Crash Course
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 1) At only 16, Spunkmeyer has done the impossible; enlist in the USCM and make it through boot camp. Surely, a feat like that means he's ready to be on his own, right? Not entirely. Past baggage with unanswered questions, as well as an unlikely friendship with another Marine, pit him against himself as he finds his mission to be independent is far from over.
1. Chapter 1

On the morning of graduation, Daniel Spunkmeyer awoke feeling as though someone was cutting away the ropes that held him down tightly for the last twelve weeks . . . make that sixteen years. It was a hot August day, made hotter by the poor ventilation across the entire boot camp complex. Aside from sick bay, which was about as cold as an icebox.

The other recruits in the compartment were getting up as though it was just another day. A few of them looked as though they had their hopes and dreams beaten out of them; their eyes were dull, and had been dull for some time.

Sitting up, Spunkmeyer rubbed his face, sighing. The silence was like a spike being driven into his skull. It was something he couldn't get used to, not after being born and raised in the heart of Manhattan. Noise was normal, familiar. He knew he was going to sacrifice a piece of his sanity when he made this decision, but the question remained of how much sanity he had lost.

He had lost more than just stability of his mind. Home? Gone. Familiar locale? Gone. Decent food? Gone. Baseball with friends in Central Park? Gone. His only clue about his biological father? Gone, but he had a bruise under the right side of his ribcage to remind him of it.

_That was twelve fucking weeks ago, but it feels like twelve years. _Spunkmeyer dragged himself out of his bunk, sighing as he set about the meaningless and mind-numbing task of making the bed. It was a habit now. That had been his existence: making the Goddamn bed. Once the bed was made, he walked around to the side of the bunk to remove his graduation uniform from its protective bag. The last three days had been spent learning how to wear it properly, so he had a good idea of what he was doing.

Only his pants and undershirt were on when he entered the bathroom to shave. Several of the other guys were in there as well, also shaving, and fixing their hair.

"You got family coming?" someone asked.

"Sure do," another recruit replied. "Mom, Dad, older sister, Grandma, all coming over from Kansas City."

"Cool. Mine are all coming from Florida." The guy looked over at Spunkmeyer. "How 'bout you? You got family coming to graduation?"

"No," Spunkmeyer replied.

Silence fell over the bathroom. "Really? Not even your parents?"

"I don't have parents."

"Oh. They gone? I'm really sorry about that, Spunkmeyer."

"No clue. I never even met 'em." Spunkmeyer avoided making eye contact with the two recruits, not wanting to continue this conversation. He finished his shave, and headed back out to put the rest of his uniform on. _I managed to go all twelve weeks without telling anyone except the chaplain about my situation. This is fine, Danny, it's not like you're gonna see these guys ever again._

A few minutes after he was fully dressed, one of their drill instructors walked into the compartment, surprisingly quiet. He carefully inspected everyone's rack and uniform, and then moved to the center of the room. "Every last one of you in here wearing that uniform is a fucking Marine now. I told y'all when you first came here that I don't care where you came from, what your home life was like, what your beliefs are, you all came here with one purpose. You all came here to become Marines. Now, when you pass the gates of this shitty base, you'll be moving on to the rest of your life."

_That includes me. This is it. I'm finally on my own._ Spunkmeyer got in line with the rest of the males in his division, for their last breakfast in boot camp. They merged with the females, walking down the narrow corridors until reaching the mess hall. He stared ahead at the back of the person in front of him, knowing this was the last time he would ever have to force himself to stare ahead, keep his neck rigid. That combined with the inadequate bedding had created a pain, pain he was far too young to be experiencing. It didn't matter now. He was so close to building a new life for himself.

* * *

The graduation ceremony was long, and involved a lot of standing and staring. Spunkmeyer wasn't listening to half the things being said. He was daydreaming, and hoping, and reminiscing on his journey.

Spunkmeyer knew there was something off about him when he was little. He had heard the other kids in his preschool and kindergarten talk about their mommy and daddy. All he knew was that he had one and not the other. When asked about his daddy, he simply said he didn't have one, and for the longest time, it felt strange. Not to mention, his mother worked a lot and never hired a babysitter or sent him to stay with grandparents. He knew the basic rules of what could and couldn't be touched around the apartment, so he would sit and read or do his homework in his room until his mother returned sometime after seven at night.

His constant isolation stunted his social skills, making his teachers throughout his elementary years concerned that something was wrong with him, mentally. He'd heard "potentially Asperger's syndrome" thrown around, but after a specialist had a look at him, that idea was tossed; he wasn't showing signs of being sensitive to light or sound, and his intelligence was average across varying subjects. His reading level was normal, and he made eye contact with whoever was speaking to him, stranger or not.

His mother had to come into the school to talk to the specialist, and with the teachers, about his home life, and that was when Spunkmeyer found out the truth.

"You're his mother, correct?" his third grade teacher asked.

"Guardian. I'm not his mother."

"Daniel put you down as his-"

"Well, he doesn't know."

What followed was a long conversation about legal issues and why this wasn't brought up when Spunkmeyer was enrolled. None of it was stuff he could understand, but what stuck with him definitely bothered him. Why was this woman not his real mother? Who were his real parents? Where were they?

He asked all those questions at home, and was met with the same response every time: "You're too young. I'll explain when you're older."

The knowledge of being adopted weighed heavily on him, but it didn't stop him from pursuing things every kid pursued as he made the transition from elementary to middle school. Middle school brought more activities-stuff that felt like fun rather than being babysat. Stuff like baseball. Spunkmeyer found he was pretty good at baseball, so he stuck with it throughout middle school. His little league team were all goofballs, but when it came to playing, they were good at what they did. It seemed miraculous that they all stuck together through high school. _Almost_ through high school.

Despite his successes, Spunkmeyer dealt with a massive empty space in his heart. He felt incomplete, and wasn't giving up on getting answers. He finally got them on the night he turned thirteen.

"If it makes you feel better," his adoptive mother started, after taking a draw on a cigarette, "your real name is still Daniel Spunkmeyer. My last name is actually Kendriss, and . . . I'm the nurse who delivered you, and took you in, because your parents didn't want you."

"Why didn't they want me?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"I don't know. I didn't know them personally. All I know is that your biological mother decided-the day she was set to leave-that she was not keeping you. I'm suspecting your father wanted you and couldn't argue with her or afford to fight for custody, I don't know. But, you know the cap you've been wearing ever since you were little? He left it with you."

"How come we haven't tried to find him?"

"I did when you were five or six. Got nothing. Danny, I'm sorry."

"Miss Kendriss," Spunkmeyer said, not wanting to call her "Mom" anymore, "if you were sorry, you woulda put more effort into making me feel like you were my mom. How come you . . . How come you're gone most of the time? You-"

"I just told you; I'm a nurse. I work at a hospital. I didn't foresee any children in my future. I took you in because I felt sorry for you, and I didn't realize that you would take up so much of my time-"

"So, you don't want me, either."

"When you turn eighteen, no. I am just giving you shelter until it's legal for you to be on your own."

Spunkmeyer spent more and more time away from home. He would alternate between staying at friends' houses on the weekends, especially during baseball season. Even when their season ended in July, they headed to Central Park to keep playing and practicing-and to spit on the field as much as they wanted without their coach telling them to stop. Off-season, though, Spunkmeyer was left with few options. He wasn't stupid-he knew wandering New York City was dangerous, especially at such a young age, but he did it anyway. He became very acquainted with Manhattan, and he considered it home. Despite that, he felt immensely alone. _Am I just destined to grow up alone?_ That thought plagued him every night.

In high school, the boys started competing with others in order to advance into JV and varsity baseball. They still had fun, but they didn't get any recognition unless they did well. Spunkmeyer knew he could get a sports scholarship if he was good, and that's what he shot for. At least until late in his freshman year.

The military always sent recruiters to talk to students. A USCM sergeant showed Spunkmeyer's class a video, and it intrigued Spunkmeyer. He approached the recruiter afterwards. "Where do I sign up?"

"You're, what, fifteen?" the recruiter asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Can't enlist till you're seventeen. Even then, you gotta wait till you're eighteen to get shipped out."

"Sir, I wanna get outta here. Please, help me."

"It's against the law. I'm sorry. I'll keep you in mind, kid. What's your name-"

The recruiter didn't get an answer, because Spunkmeyer had already stormed out.

Anger was filling the void within his heart. Spunkmeyer didn't want to wait anymore. _Eighteen. Eighteen. Eighteen. Can't get outta here till I'm eighteen. This would be bearable if I had real parents that loved me and wanted me to succeed._

After following the rules all his life, Spunkmeyer wound up breaking them-a lot of them. He spent all summer forging documents, and once he had all the necessary information, he enlisted-making sure that his recruiter wasn't the same one he saw at school.

* * *

Spunkmeyer snapped out of his thoughts when he realized the ceremony was coming to a close. This really was it. He was beginning a new life.

The formation was dismissed, and the new Marines went looking for their families. Except for Spunkmeyer. He sighed quietly, and slowly paced until he noticed someone familiar approaching him. "Captain Jesse?"

The base chaplain paused in front of him, holding a worn, dark-blue cap. "Congratulations on graduating," he said, smiling. "I believe this is yours." He handed Spunkmeyer that cap, which had a fading Yankee's symbol on it.

Spunkmeyer clutched it tightly as he tried to hold back his tears and disbelief. "How'd you . . . get this?" He had worn that cap for almost his whole life, not fully understanding why he had always felt attached to it until being told that his father left it with him as a baby. The memory of losing it still stung.

He was wearing it when he stepped off the bus upon arriving at boot camp. An instructor yanked him out of line, and took the brim of his cap. "What's this, dip-fuck? You were told to lose all non-essential clothing when you got on the bus! Are you capable of listening?!"

"I-I wasn't told that," Spunkmeyer stammered.

"Yes, you were." The instructor took off the cap, sending Spunkmeyer into a rage.

"_That's my dad's! Give it back!_"

"Drop the act, you little sentimental shit-stain." The cap was thrown into the dark of night, and Spunkmeyer was shoved back in line, feeling as though someone had penetrated his chest and ripped part of his heart out.

_If I'm truly going to let go and start over, maybe it's a good thing I don't have that cap anymore, _Spunkmeyer thought. He continued to think that way for the next twelve weeks, but he could still feel that aching space in his heart, and it wasn't going away, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he was starting over and the cap wasn't necessary.

Jesse had found it, somehow. The chaplain patted Spunkmeyer's shoulder. "I was in my car getting ready to go home for the night when I saw your little altercation. Your hat was flung pretty close to the parking lot, and I waited till you all had went inside before I got out to grab it."

"So, this was all based on luck, huh?" Spunkmeyer whispered.

"Luck, or fate. Whichever you choose to believe." Jesse looked around, and gently took Spunkmeyer outside. "I did try to track down your biological father using the hat. The closest I managed to get was finding what store this hat was sold from, but when I called the owner, he said that the only way to find the buyer would be to go through his receipts, and he doesn't keep any older than two years."

Spunkmeyer felt like someone had jammed a corkscrew into his heart. "Is there . . . anything else I can do?"

"DNA testing. The problem with that is they'd be able to tell that you're only sixteen, and if that gets around to the USCM, you'll be facing some stiff penalties. Not to mention, we don't know if your parents' are on record." Jesse glanced to his left, seeing several Marines leaving the hall with their families. "Boot camp is over, Daniel. You have a lot more control over your life than you may think you do now. Try not to let this blind and overtake you, because you might be missing out on opportunities to let more people in your heart and feel love that you weren't expecting."

"You're not saying 'give up,' are you?"

"Continuing is completely up to you. However, I did the best I could, and came up empty-handed. I don't want you whittling your life away on something that might end up being hopeless." Jesse looked Spunkmeyer in the eye. "Do you trust me?"

Spunkmeyer nodded. "I worked hard to leave home. I came here to become independent, so that's what I'm gonna keep doing."

* * *

The drive to the airport was going to take several hours, and Spunkmeyer didn't want to wait around. He packed his belongings, making sure his cap was tucked away where it wouldn't get tossed away again, and began heading to a bus that would drive all night until reaching the airport.

Flight training was all the way out in Colorado. It would be the furthest he had gotten from home thus far, and he knew he would get farther. He was OK with that.

Setting his duffel bag on his lap, Spunkmeyer used it as a pillow, resting his head on it while gazing out the window at the stars and trees flying by. The movement of the vehicle slowly lulled him off. His posture was bad, sure, but anything was better than the thin mattress and pillow of the boot camp compartments.

Hours passed with fitful sleep. Spunkmeyer awoke, unsure of the time, and adjusted himself by hugging his knees, pressing the large bag against his face. There were less trees and more houses outside the window now, which suggested they were getting closer to the airport. Hopefully.

He arrived two hours later, and slung his bag over his shoulder. Papers in hand, he went through security, and prepared to wait a few more hours for his flight to Denver. It was a lot of waiting, and a part of him was starting to hate it. He was also anxious, and struggling to pull himself out of the boot camp mindset.

Overwhelmed was the best word to describe how he felt. It was an emotional roller coaster that he wanted to get off of. If things had just been a little better, he would've been asleep right now, or waking up and hanging out with friends. This experience had, in a way, made him feel more like an adult, and that was what he wanted more than ever. He wanted to be seen as an adult so he could go out into the world. Passing boot camp was his first major step.

Miss Kendriss probably didn't even bother reporting him missing. Then again, the high school probably wanted to know where he was. Either they gave up, or it was too late to do anything. Spunkmeyer was fine with that, especially when he boarded his flight to Denver. _Definitely too late now. I'm not going back. I'm not going back to someone who only took me in because it was an emotional impulse. _Besides, he had a good long contract and lots of training to get through.

He had chosen dropship flight as his job because of how specialized it was. It wasn't baseball, but it promised a lot of experience, and he wouldn't be waiting very long to get a unit once he completed his training, given how essential pilots and co-pilots were; your unit's not going anywhere without them. It would earn him respect, and make him feel valuable. He _hoped_ it would make him feel valuable.

* * *

When he landed in Denver, Spunkmeyer looked for other Marines, hoping he wouldn't get himself lost. Finally, he spotted a tall, thin man in a lieutenant's uniform, standing by a phone and twirling a set of keys while speaking. The lieutenant sounded like he was from Australia.

"I'll have to talk to you some other time. One of our new pilots found me." The lieutenant hung up the phone, and stuck out his hand to Spunkmeyer. "You must be PFC Spunkmeyer, right?"

"Yes, sir." Nervously, Spunkmeyer shook the man's hand. Throughout basic, he had been told not to make eye contact with his instructors, but he was making eye contact with this lieutenant.

"Great. I'm Lieutenant Evison. I'll be your chauffeur and one of your instructors in your seven-month journey to becoming a pilot or co-pilot of any number of air and spacecraft we use here in the USCM. Now, did you eat when you arrived?"

"No, sir."

"Are you hungry?"

"A little . . . sir." _Are you actually going to let me eat?_

"Look, I know I'm an officer, but I'm not the one you have to cover your ass around. That's Lieutenant Larkins. She's a good teacher, you know, if you don't piss her off, and that's . . . a bit easy to do. Anyway, in settings like this, you don't have to call me 'sir.'" Evison gestured toward the restaurants lining the hallway. "Tell me a little about yourself, Spunkmeyer."

_You're actually going to let me eat._ Spunkmeyer felt a tugging sensation in his chest, but refused to show his immense gratitude. "I'm from New York."

"I can hear it in your voice. Which borough?"

"Manhattan."

"Fresh out of high school?"

"Yeah."

"Nice."

Spunkmeyer left things at that. He didn't feel like telling Evison his whole story just yet.

* * *

_Author's Note: The last thing I wanted to do was make part of this chapter an info-dump. I did feel like having Spunkmeyer reminisce during the ceremony would be an appropriate way to give a large part of his backstory to the reader, but there's a part of me that still feels like the beginning will fall flat, especially compared to Hicks's story and Hudson's._

_I also hope that, again, Spunkmeyer's backstory isn't overly, or unnecessarily, tragic. Some sense of sadness and despair needed to be present, though, because canonically, it is suggested that he enlisted underage. The question is why, and I tried to answer that to the best of my ability._


	2. Chapter 2

Drinking coffee was a completely new experience for Spunkmeyer, and he felt like he needed to do it to look like an adult. It had a very delicious smell, and a welcome one after twelve weeks of things that certainly didn't smell delicious. It was a slightly bitter drink, aided by the cream and sugar and hazelnut flavor.

Evison allowed Spunkmeyer to carry his drink into the van with him. It was still dark, and Spunkmeyer's exhaustion and jet lag weren't helping his basic concentration, nor was it helping pull him out of the boot camp mindset.

"You'll be able to get a little more rest when we get there," Evison said, noting how bloodshot Spunkmeyer's eyes were. "Don't panic or worry. Trust me, this is a different environment. You'll learn what you need to learn, and when the day is over, that time is yours. Weekends are yours, too. We want you prepared for your job, but we also want to make sure you have time to focus on yourself, make friends. Hell, pilots and co-pilots have to get to know each other so they can function in a ruddy dropship together."

"Do you know who my partner's gonna be?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"You will work with multiple people until you find someone you work extraordinarily well with. After that, you'll both be put in the same unit." Evison merged with traffic on the freeway just outside the airport. "Best part is you won't have complete separation from the females. Only rule we have is that when it's lights-out, you're in your own rooms. We don't want any funny business."

"So, does that mean . . . people can date?"

"We generally frown upon that. I personally don't care as long as it's not interfering with your duties, so, if you have problems, just come to me. I won't tell a soul."

_Everyone there is going to be over eighteen, which means I can't date anyone. Fuck it, I'm not interested right now anyways. _Spunkmeyer took another sip of his coffee. "What else is different?"

"Well, with permission, you can leave base and visit the city. There are lots of places on base where you can go grab some real food, but most people prefer going into Denver. When you get your room, you really do have your own room, but there's one shower for the boys and one shower for the girls. Definitely, absolutely, positively _do not_ get caught underdressed in the hallway. The females could see you, me or Larkins could see you, or any other officer could see you. You will get in serious trouble. Underdressed means no shirt, no pants, no shoes, or all of the above. With medical, we have great corpsmen who won't rush you and they'll always listen to you. Corporal Byrd is there most of the day, and he's excellent. Don't be afraid to go to him if you got even just a headache. He's the only NCO Larkins will fucking listen to."

Evison braked in front of a large gate, and rolled down the window as a man in utilities carrying a pulse rifle approached the van. "It's just me, Grenton!" He pulled his I.D. out of his breast pocket, and reached down to show the Marine.

"Right, you're all set, sir!" Grenton called back.

"Thank you! You've been up since four! Go get the next sentry, mate!" Evison rolled the window back up. "Sentries have the easiest job in the whole USCM, but be nice to them, because they're the ones protecting your ass." Evison became silent as he found a spot to park. Close to the parking lot was a massive hangar and runway. It was silent now, but in a few hours, it would be practically screaming with activity as planes, helicopters and dropships raced in and out of it.

The base was significantly larger than boot camp, and Spunkmeyer felt a little intimidated by it at first. He tightened the straps of his bag over his shoulder as he climbed out of the van, helped by Evison.

"Watch your step, mate," Evison said. "There you go. You feeling alright?"

Spunkmeyer was quiet, unsure of what to say.

"Culture shock, isn't it? Don't worry. You'll get plenty of time to adjust yourself." Evison turned his head a little, getting a better look at Spunkmeyer's face. "I bet I know what's up; you got to use the dunny, don't you?"

"What?"

Evison laughed. "That's the Aussie word for 'toilet,' mate! You probably haven't taken a proper shit in weeks." He patted Spunkmeyer's shoulder as he walked him into the main building, which was connected to the hangar. "Gets 'em every single time. I've been up here long enough to where I don't speak my own language, but I always ask about the dunny when I bring new Marines here. Every time I see that look on their face, I think, 'Oh, bloody hell, they gotta go. They're all backed up and that's why they're not saying a damn word because they're afraid of getting told to be quick about it.'"

Spunkmeyer found himself smiling a little. "Yeah, I guess . . . I guess that's true."

"I'm also getting the sense that you want to be alone for a little while."

Spunkmeyer nodded.

"You'll get that. I promise." Evison pushed open the doors to an open space inside the hangar. He frowned when he saw a group of pilots standing in formation, being berated by a well-built woman with a permanent scowl and a tight bun. "Bloody fuck," he whispered.

". . . I don't want to hear anymore laughing and giggling at five in the fucking morning!" Lieutenant Larkins was shouting. "I hear you shit-stains out of your rooms before six again, and you'll stand out here for two hours, got it?!"

It was quiet, until a sniff was heard.

"Private Ferro! I don't want to see or hear you fucking crying anymore!" Larkins marched up to a young lady with short, mouse-brown hair in the back of the formation. "I see it one more time, and I'm giving you a one-way ticket home, you got that?!"

Ferro looked down, struggling to restrain herself.

Larkins looked over at Evison. "Where the fuck have you been, kangaroo breath?! Giving the new guy _coffee?!_" She marched over to yank away Spunkmeyer's cup, and throw it across the hangar.

Spunkmeyer was thinking about his first night in boot camp, when his father's cap was taken from him. He looked down at his duffel bag. _It's still there. It's still in there._

"Larkins, you know the rules," Evison growled. "Your bullshit is off-limits to the new Marines. General Paulson has personally spoken to you about this, and he has stated more than once that he'll gladly sign your dishonorable discharge papers if you so-"

"Do your own job, Evison! Give that kid a room and get back out here."

Spunkmeyer let his hand fall to his side when he realized he wasn't getting his coffee back. As he glanced forward, he noticed Ferro looking at him from the corner of his eye. Once they made eye contact, she looked away.

* * *

The rooms for each Marine were small, but much better than a rack with an outdated and dirty mattress. There was a lot more space for storage, as well as spots for personal items, like books or care packages from family.

Spunkmeyer closed the door after Evison left him alone, and began emptying his duffel bag. He hung up his dress uniforms in the closet, and put his foldable clothing in the drawers under the bed. His hygiene stuff was placed on a dresser across from the bed, and everything else was placed inside the dresser.

The last thing in his duffel bag was his father's ballcap.

Spunkmeyer sat on his bed, turning the cap over in his hands. He sighed, tears rolling down his face. The chaplain had gotten so close, but couldn't get any answers because of things beyond his control.

He emerged from his thoughts when he heard the rest of the division heading back to their rooms, and someone knocked on the door.

"Spunkmeyer," Evison called, "everyone's getting ready to go to breakfast. You can stay here, if you want."

Putting the cap in a drawer with a lock, Spunkmeyer tucked the key in his pocket before opening the door. He took advantage of everyone being gone by heading to the communal restroom. It was the closest he was going to get to privacy.

He was in there for some time, allowing his body to take its time and relax. He was used to being alone whenever he did his really personal stuff; after all, Miss Kendriss was rarely home, granting him all the privacy in the world. It made him anxious whenever someone was close by while he was doing his business, and he could never explain the reason.

Mealtimes were usually short at boot camp, and Spunkmeyer noticed everyone was still gone around the twenty-minute mark. After finishing his business, he looked into the hallway, half-expecting to see everyone returning in line. A few minutes later, people were returning in small groups, talking amongst themselves. A young man with short, black hair approached Spunkmeyer, saying, "Hey, need help getting your room set up?"

"Is there a certain way it has to be done?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"No, but there're a couple things you don't need anymore. I'll show you. Name's Herschel, by the way."

"Spunkmeyer."

"Neat." Herschel walked into Spunkmeyer's room. "All your clothes fit?"

"Yeah. I've been losing a lot of weight, so, some of it is a little loose."

"Don't worry about that. We got a big stash of clothes you can pick from if you need new stuff. Where're your cammies?"

"Under the bed."

"Hand 'em over. Don't need 'em anymore. You'll be getting your new uniform tomorrow. It's a quick process, but the uniform guys are really nice and make sure everything fits you. Keep your black hat, though. Gimme your dress uniform, too. You'll get a new one for graduation and special events in a few months." Herschel tossed Spunkmeyer's uniforms over his shoulder, and looked at the dresser. "We got shops here on base if you wanna get a better toothbrush and soap and stuff."

Spunkmeyer was quiet for a moment, staring blankly out into the hallway. "Hey, who's the girl that was crying earlier?"

"Ferro? Oh, she's always been struggling with Larkins. She's actually behind in a lot of her tests and stuff. She should be graduating in three months, but it looks like she'll be graduating the same time as you if you don't get on Larkins's bad side. Ferro's a little shy, but really nice. I think she needs a close friend. She doesn't get along with her training partner."

"How come?"

"They irritate each other. Evison's been trying to find somebody else to work with Ferro, but he hasn't found a good match just yet, and that pisses off Larkins because she thinks he's coddling her. Anyway, even though Larkins is a bitch for most of the day, this place isn't bad. Just listen to her and you'll pass with flying colors." Herschel smiled, then frowned a little. "Are you OK? You look something's on your mind."

"I'm alright. Just . . . getting used to everything, that's all."

"Well, if you need anything, just ask. You're a newbie, so, if you see us going somewhere, it doesn't mean you have to go, too. That's all tomorrow."

* * *

Spunkmeyer napped until the lunch hour, and followed the others into the mess hall. Like the rest of the base, the mess hall was larger and nicer than the one at boot camp, and it looked like there were a lot more options in terms of food. Plus, everything looked fresh.

"You don't have to get in line. Go where you want to go," Evision said. "You feeling OK? Most people are usually perked up and rearing to go by now. You just look . . . You look like something's bothering you, or you've got a fever."

Spunkmeyer sighed. "If I tell you what's going on, can you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Sure. Spill it, mate."

"I really don't have a family. Y'know, they didn't . . . want me, at birth, and the nurse took pity on me, but that was it. She felt bad, but didn't realize kids are a lot of work, so, all along, she didn't want me, either. My real dad apparently left a baseball cap with me, and I had it taken away as soon as I got to training and the chaplain was nice enough to pick it up and . . . he tried to trace the cap's seller, hoping that it would lead to my dad, and . . . he got pretty far, but the store doesn't keep old receipts, so there's no more trail. We followed it as far as it'll go. It's not . . . It's not reasonable to try to keep searching, and I don't know what to do."

"Well, I don't know if that's the only trail you can cover, but I do know that you will find people here who'll become your family. Your unit will become your family. It's not going to fill that space in your heart, but it will lessen the pain. You have value to someone. Don't ever convince yourself that because you were rejected by your biological parents and your adoptive mother, you will never make something of yourself. Someone out there-could be a friend, a future girlfriend-will love you. No one is ever put here to be unloved."

Spunkmeyer nodded, taking a breath. "Alright. Thanks for . . . f-for just listening."

"No problem. Now, go get some food in your stomach, and try to talk to people. I won't always be here, so you'll have to rely on someone else, OK?" Evison gently nudged Spunkmeyer along.

With that little weight off his shoulders, Spunkmeyer took a tray and wandered around the mess hall, picking and choosing what he wanted to eat. He then decided to sit near Herschel, who had been waving him over. He also noticed Ferro sitting at the other end of the table with some of the other females, appearing bored with their conversation, but also trying not to show it.

A part of Spunkmeyer felt like talking to her, but he resisted that urge. _I'm the new guy. That'd be weird._

Herschel asked the simple questions first, like where Spunkmeyer was from and whatnot. Spunkmeyer decided to be upfront and honest about his situation, without informing Herschel that he was well under the legal age for a Marine.

The topic of being adopted didn't last very long, which Spunkmeyer appreciated. What followed were the country boys asking what New York City was like, and vice versa. At least the one thing the majority of them had in common was some kind of baseball experience when they were kids.

Herschel was nice enough, but Spunkmeyer wasn't sure if he'd be the person to go to if something was wrong. _Of course, it's too soon to tell. Give it time. You're not gonna make friends overnight._

* * *

The rest of the day went by rather slowly. Spunkmeyer was able to walk around and visit the lounge while everyone else was in the hangar with training. He was the only person there until a man with dark ginger hair strolled in, and smiled when he saw him.

"You're Private Spunkmeyer, right?" the man asked. "I'm Corporal Byrd, head corpsman. Can you come with me for a minute?"

Spunkmeyer stood up, following Byrd down to sick bay.

"You're not in trouble. Sometimes, they do a sloppy job of sending all your files up from recruit training. I just want to make sure all this information is intact and correct. Have a seat." Byrd closed the door to his office. "You are . . . PFC Daniel Spunkmeyer, age eighteen . . . Social Security number . . . military I.D. . . . male sex . . . no outstanding medical history." He glanced at Spunkmeyer. "You have had no sexual relationships, partners, encounters, and the like?"

"No, sir."

"Good. No abnormalities in your urine. Don't worry, I won't ask you to provide a sample now. Eyesight is phenomenal. Hearing, good." Byrd skimmed through another paper. "No wisdom teeth?"

"They haven't come in yet."

"OK. Blood type, AB-positive. Everything else . . . looks good." Byrd smiled. "Anything bothering you right now?"

Spunkmeyer shook his head.

"Good. I don't overreact. I use my common sense and don't jump to the absolute worst conclusion. So, that's all I needed. Thank you."

"Really? That's it?"

Byrd nodded. "Be advised, we do have random urine tests from time to time. Keep that in mind."

He didn't seem at all suspicious that Spunkmeyer was lying about something.

* * *

The entire base was immediately cloaked with silence after all the lights went out. Spunkmeyer lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. Again, the silence was unbearable. It was soon broken by the hum of a generator, but it wasn't enough to lull him off to sleep. He felt like crying; homesickness crept up on him. Despite everything that had happened, he still considered New York to be home. The familiarity of everything had been stripped away. He had taken it away from himself. If he had just held out for two more years, he would've gotten himself a job and stayed in the city.

It just seemed so easy to quit, but he didn't want to back out on this. He had barely gotten started, and he did pass boot camp; surely, that was a sign that he was meant to do this and continue onward.

Eventually, Spunkmeyer drifted into a dreamless sleep. He was jolted awake at six in the morning by someone knocking on the door.

"Time to get up, Spunkmeyer! Rise and shine, mate!" Evison called. "Get dressed, come on down for breakfast!"

People moved along at their own pace in the mess hall. Just like the day before, Spunkmeyer sat with Herschel, and kept glancing at Ferro, who was now by herself. For a second, Spunkmeyer looked down at his food, and felt like someone was staring at him. He switched his gaze upward, and saw Ferro looking at him from the corner of his eye. This time, he moved his head in order to get full eye contact with her.

Shyly, he waved, and she shyly waved back.

_Go talk to her, you dork. She waved back, that means you can initiate a conversation with her . . . right?_ Spunkmeyer held back, going back to his breakfast. He noticed he didn't have much of an appetite anymore.

* * *

Spunkmeyer kept thinking about that little wave while getting fitted for his new uniform. He kept thinking about it for most of the day, as he got started with training. Everything began with safety, and correctly wearing your flight harness. Didn't matter what you were flying, you wore a helmet and harness.

Larkins passed training guides out to the Marines seated in the classroom. "I expect you all to be studying these in your free time. You get way too much of that here, so why don't you use it productively? Tests are given regularly, and if I don't see passing marks on all of them, I don't want to see you fucking flying. The first section is on safety and what to do in a training accident. Read it and study it. We will be going over it tomorrow. Dismissed."

Today was much slower than yesterday. Spunkmeyer was glad his mind was a little more occupied, but it would be some time before he got into the swing of his new routine.

Every day would end with a fifteen-minute exercise session. While most people immediately went to shower afterward, Spunkmeyer isolated himself to study the training guide. He lay flat on his stomach, on his bed, with the book open in front of him. He figured he would read, and then shower when the crowd thinned out.

He paused when he heard someone crying, and got up to open his door and see Ferro slamming the door shut to her own room. An awful feeling starting up in his gut, Spunkmeyer stepped out in the hallway, taking a deep breath before knocking on Ferro's door.

* * *

_Question: How is Spunkmeyer's attitude toward his issues different from Drake's? Hicks's? Hudson's?_


	3. Chapter 3

Spunkmeyer briefly hesitated before rapping his knuckles against Ferro's door. Her sobbing had subsided a little, but he couldn't bear to listen to it. His mind kept turning to that morning, where they managed to look at each other and even wave to each other. He felt like that meant something, that he really should talk to her.

"Whoever it is, go away," Ferro stammered.

Spunkmeyer bit his lip, struggling to come up with a good introduction. "I just want to see if you're OK."

"I don't even know who you-" Ferro threw open the door, stopping when she looked Spunkmeyer in the eye. "Oh. You're the . . . the new guy who came yesterday morning. Just go away. I don't want to talk to anyone right now." She didn't lose eye contact with him, and didn't slam the door on him.

"Can I talk to you? I won't say anything to anyone-"

"It's not like it's a secret that I cry, OK? I don't care anymore."

Spunkmeyer stayed put. He realized they still didn't lose eye contact with each other, and he didn't want to be the one breaking it. "You're sure you don't wanna talk to me? I kinda . . . got the feeling you did when you . . ." _Oh, now that was just stupid of you to say, Danny. Now you sound like you want to be in a relationship with her. You can't. You're only sixteen._

"When what? Spit it out."

"Y-You returned my wave this morning."

"Well, that was before the fucking day started. You're a newbie, you don't want to talk to me or get advice from me."

"I don't care about that right now. Look, I heard you crying, I feel bad, I want to make sure you're OK. Does everyone else do this every time you cry?"

"No, actually. They've become so used to it that nobody cares anymore. They just let me go, and . . . a-and . . ." Ferro broke eye contact, looking down at the floor as tears welled up in her gray eyes. "Get in here." As soon as Spunkmeyer walked in, Ferro closed the door. She gestured for him to sit on the bed, which was unmade. "What's your name?"

"Spunkmeyer."

"And you already know who I am because you heard the Wicked Witch yelling at me yesterday morning and I'm pretty sure someone told you that I'm . . . lagging behind?"

"Well, actually, I asked about you when I was getting help with my room yesterday. Just, wanted to know who you were, that's all."

"Whatever. Point is that I don't need to introduce myself." Ferro sat next to him, sighing. "No, I'm not OK. Every day is the same as the one before it. She just won't let me learn, and it's only a matter of time before she sends Evison down to tell me to pack my bags and go home. Believe me, I don't want to go home."

"Hey, I understand. I don't think anyone here wants to go home."

"Everyone says that. That's probably why no one's put in the effort to help me. Even Evison is too busy to help me."

"What exactly do you need help with?"

"You wouldn't know. And you're not even ready to use a simulator yet."

"Maybe not, but . . . I can listen to you."

"That's not what I need right now. I should be graduating soon, and I'm not. I don't need a crying pillow. I need to pass my tests, I need to start actually flying a ship. Only way I'm gonna leave this stupid place and move on."

"I still think you need-"

"No. If that's all you have to offer, than get out and don't speak to me ever again, not unless you have something useful to say."

"Jesus," Spunkmeyer sighed as he stood up. "Fine. Fine. I won't speak to yous ever again, lady."

* * *

Things gradually became repetitive over the next several days. Spunkmeyer picked things up rather quickly, especially what made Larkins tick. She didn't like being challenged, especially if someone stated that she was in the wrong. However, if she was right, she'd berate the person who challenged her, brutally. She also didn't like it when someone did something that wasn't in any way, shape, or form part of the current task, unless they were taking initiative and going above and beyond.

Spunkmeyer had tried to do that by helping another pilot with his harness, but the harness kept getting tangled due to Spunkmeyer not realizing he needed to pull that section out of its buckle. He was promptly asked what his IQ was.

"I don't know, ma'am," Spunkmeyer replied.

"Well, I'll give you a pretty good guess, rat turd; it's less than seventy," Larkins said.

Spunkmeyer swallowed nervously, unsure of what to say.

"You're supposed to say, 'Yes ma'am.'"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Congratulations, rat turd, you're stupid."

"Yes, ma'am."

Larkins finally moved on, leaving Spunkmeyer feeling as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Overall, he was learning that she was difficult to impress.

When he got to training with Evison, however, it was a completely different story. Evison was loud when he needed to be, and he only ever got angry when someone did something that could potentially be dangerous. He cursed as much as Larkins, but never insulted anyone. Spunkmeyer liked him quite a bit. He had never felt that with anyone above him before. It was strange, and at times, he found himself longing for more of Evison's individual attention. _Why, though?_

Those first two weeks were spent on safety training, what to do if there was an accident, and memorizing where things like fire extinguishers and gas masks were located. The week after was first-aid training, which Corporal Byrd was in charge of, but Larkins and Evison supervised.

Spunkmeyer's thoughts would continue to turn to Ferro. There weren't that many times they saw each other during training, but when they did, Spunkmeyer got a clear picture of Ferro's daily interactions with her instructors, and teammates. Much like that first night they talked to each other, Ferro was prone to push people away when they offered help. She wanted to do things on her own, even when she wasn't sure what to do. It was a result of her inability to play the game by Larkins's rules, and Spunkmeyer couldn't tell if Ferro was deliberately ignoring the rules, or just didn't know them.

It wasn't until one night in late September when Spunkmeyer decided to try and talk to Ferro again. He and some of the other Marines had watched her and her training partner make their first attempt at flying a very small troop cargo plane in and out of the hangar.

"She's shaking a little," Herschel said, softly. "Looks like she's not sure how to land."

A nervous knot began forming in the pit of Spunkmeyer's gut. "She could crash."

Ferro didn't crash, but her landing was far from smooth. The plane bounced a lot, and almost whipped off the runway as Ferro attempted to right herself while taxiing back down the tarmac.

When the sound of the engines died down, Larkins approached the plane, waiting for Ferro and her co-pilot to exit the hatch. There was silence, and then a string of cursing and insults as Larkins exploded on Ferro, informing her repeatedly of how she could've gotten a lot of people killed if this was more real.

Ferro was trying to keep herself from crying again. She covered her face as Evison approached them.

"Go on inside," Evison said. "Freshen up and take a few minutes to calm down." He led Ferro back to the living quarters, and gestured for everyone else to do the same.

Spunkmeyer went to his room first to hang up his jacket. Like last time, he heard Ferro slam her door. For a moment, he hesitated, but then quietly walked into the hall. He looked down at his boots as he knocked.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ferro sobbed.

Spunkmeyer's words got caught in his throat, and he couldn't form a proper sentence. When he waited too long, Ferro opened the door, glaring at him. She raised her fist to hit him, but stopped, slowly lowering her fist as she looked Spunkmeyer in the eye.

"Let me talk to you," Spunkmeyer said. "Please?"

He could see Ferro completely letting her guard down. It came in the form of more tears making her gray eyes sparkle. Again, she let Spunkmeyer into her room, and sat on the bed, hunching in on herself as she sobbed.

"How is it that I got so far, and yet . . . didn't go anywhere at all?" she whispered.

That was definitely a familiar feeling. "It . . . It happens, I guess," Spunkmeyer replied. "Not saying that to belittle you. I know that feeling of going really far and not actually going anywhere."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I'm adopted. I've been trying to find my biological father, and the chaplain at boot camp found a pretty good lead, but it didn't . . . didn't go anywhere. It was stuff beyond our control, and it doesn't look like there's anything else I can do to actually find my real dad."

"I'm sorry."

"Nah, don't be. Not your fault."

"Well, I'm also sorry for not . . . just letting you talk to me, or seeing that you were offering help. I mean, in all honesty, considering you're the first person to really give a damn, I . . . was half-expecting you to be like everyone else and walk away and not care anymore. I'm hopeless, I know. I shouldn't be here anymore." Ferro sighed.

"You're not hopeless. I've observed you, and I think . . . you try to plow through things a little too hard, because you're so afraid of someone getting pissed off at you."

"So, I was right. You were staring at me all this time."

"You were staring at me, too. D-Do you like me or something?"

"You're cute, but I'm not romantically interested in you."

"Good, 'cause I'm not romantically interested in you, either."

Silence followed, and Spunkmeyer was worried he had made things uncomfortable. There were so many things he just said that he wished he could've worded differently. He took a breath, and said, "Y'know, maybe we can . . . get some coffee on Saturday, and . . . I dunno, talk more."

"Let me think about it. I'll let you know later."

* * *

Spunkmeyer only had to wait an hour for an answer. During dinner, Ferro sat across from him, and weakly smiled. "Yes, I'll get coffee with you on Saturday," she said.

"Alright. Do you know any good places in Denver?" Spunkmeyer replied.

"Yeah. Make sure you ask Evison for a bus pass. Never ask Larkins. Ever."

"Got it. Now, it's true that we don't do anything on weekends?"

"That's true. We just have to be back by four PM."

Spunkmeyer wasn't sure what else to say, and it looked like Ferro went back to being shy when she realized the conversation had ended. It wasn't completely silent, but Spunkmeyer felt like he needed to take the initiative in this newfound friendship. "So, you ever been to New York?"

"The city or the state?" Ferro asked.

"The city."

"No. I'm from Michigan. This is the first time I've left home."

"Never even been on vacation?"

"I went to Detroit for one summer, but that was it."

"Ah. That's fine. This is kinda the first time I've really left home as well. But, yeah, I'm from Manhattan."

"Is that why Larkins calls you 'rat turd?'"

Spunkmeyer nodded. "She asked me where I'm from. I says, 'New York.' She says, 'You've probably seen those giant rats, then.' I go, 'Yeah, I've seen 'em.' And she replies, 'Well, then, your name is now rat turd.'"

"Yeah, don't take it personally," Ferro sighed. "The trick is not letting her get to you, but, I'm proof that sometimes she does."

"Well, I do have one question that I hope you don't mind me asking; how long have you been here?"

"Four months. I passed all my safety stuff and I know all the parts of a dropship. Right now, I . . . I still need to be able to get off the ground. I can't graduate without all my hours."

"How many do you need?"

"Five hundred total. I have two hundred simulated. My remaining three hundred need to be in the air. You won't be touching the simulator for another month or so, unless you excel and Evison decides to get you in a push program. Gets you flying quicker. By the way, I hope you have a strong stomach, because before you can even use a simulator, you need to get used to the feeling of a dropship, you know, actually dropping. Try not to eat too much or too close to your drop test."

"How many times do you do that?"

"Until you don't puke or pass out."

"I've been to Coney Island a few times. I think I can-"

"The roughest roller coasters are kiddie rides compared to this. Trust me." Ferro gave Spunkmeyer a genuine smile.

"Alright, I'll trust you."

* * *

This was only Spunkmeyer's second time having coffee, but he could see why people drank it daily. "There're coffee places on base, right?"

"Yeah. Why do you ask?" Ferro asked when they sat in a café with their drinks.

"I think I should start having it every day."

"You didn't drink coffee at home?"

"No. The morning I arrived here was the first time."

"Well, don't get too hooked on it. There might be days where you won't have time, and then you'll get a bad headache because your body's craving it."

"Thanks for the advice." Spunkmeyer grinned. "So, I'm gonna take a guess, and say . . . you're a small-town girl."

"How'd you know?"

"You said you were from Michigan. People from big cities usually say 'I'm from this city' instead of their state."

Ferro smirked. "Wow. Small-town girl and a city boy. How original."

"I take it you've heard that song."

"What, 'Don't Stop Believin'?' Of course I have. You'd have to live under a rock not to. You like older music?"

"Yeah. I mean, I don't have that much of a preference, but I gravitate toward it most of the time."

"Hey, I don't have a preference, either, so, you're OK." Ferro glanced out the window. "Best part about home was seeing all the leaves change. My dad used to take me on a long drive around the backroads and farms to see these long views of yellow and red and orange. Afterwards, we'd grab fresh apple cider and hot cider donuts. I miss doing that."

"I wish I got to do stuff like that."

"Didn't you say you were adopted? Your adoptive parents didn't do that with you?"

"The nurse who helped deliver me kinda . . . adopted me on a whim. She felt bad, and didn't think about how much work kids are. She really wasn't around, but I guess she cared enough to where she didn't want to hand me over to foster care. It's kinda confusing, and . . . simply put, it's why I joined the Marines."

"So, you've never really felt . . . any kind of love?"

"You could say that, yeah."

"That is so sad, and yet you don't seem really bothered by it."

"Technically, I am bothered by it, but I haven't . . . I haven't let it control me. I had other things to keep my mind occupied, and now that I'm on my own, forging my own life, I'm trying to make friends. It's not gonna fill that void, but it'll keep that pain from overwhelming my life."

Ferro nodded while listening. "Well, you found your first friend." She smiled at him.

* * *

_Luck, or fate. Whichever you choose to believe. _Captain Jesse's words were ringing in Spunkmeyer's head. Was he lucky to have run into Ferro, or were they destined to meet each other? That question stuck with him the whole day. He felt like it was too soon to go into a deeper topic like that, even though they had a month to ponder each other.

Spunkmeyer had never spent so much time with only one person before. Ferro was indeed nice when she wasn't sad or frustrated, and he liked her. He felt comfortable around her, and he felt like he'd be able to trust her. The only thing he wasn't sure about was telling her his real age. Would she be mad? Would she keep it a secret? He needed to keep building that trust, so he could tell her without fear. At the same time, he was afraid that if he waited too long, she'd be mad that he didn't tell her earlier. _I need to tell her soon, but not too soon. _He had already told her a good portion of his story. She understood why he joined the Marines. Surely, telling her that he was underage wouldn't be an issue. Another part of him was afraid that their relationship was too new, and if he told her, she'd start treating him like a child. _Just be patient. Give it a few days, but tell her the first chance you get so she knows you trust her. _

It was a little past three when they started heading back to the station to catch a bus back to base. They had explored a department store near the café, and had lunch together. It definitely made Spunkmeyer feel more human after months of being somewhat restrained, and years of feeling rejected. It was a feeling he had a difficult time putting to words, but the best way he could describe it was "like getting a soft, warm hug."

Then again, he had never been hugged before. Today was his first time.

The last time he saw Ferro for the day was right before lights-out. She stood in front of her door, hair still wet from a shower, listening to Spunkmeyer telling a story from a baseball game in middle school. "Hey, I really hate to interrupt you, but, we gotta go to bed in two minutes."

"OK," Spunkmeyer replied. "Remind me at breakfast tomorrow to finish." He stopped, feeling like that was a bad way to end the day. "Um . . . thanks for, you know, hanging out with me today. I know that sounds kinda sappy, but-"

"It's fine. I was gonna thank you, too." Ferro smiled again. "Good-night, Spunkmeyer."

"Good-night, Ferro. I-" He was stopped by Ferro quickly putting her arms around him. She held him for a heartbeat, maybe two, and then let go.

Something hurt in his chest when she let go. Spunkmeyer swallowed nervously before hugging Ferro, and he hugged her tightly.

"Are you OK?" she whispered.

"Yeah," Spunkmeyer replied. Truthfully, he wasn't sure. He wanted to hold her for the rest of the night. This feeling was . . . addicting. It was warm and soft and he couldn't believe he had never felt it before. It got better when Ferro hugged him back.

They had to let go, though, unless they wanted Larkins catching them. "Good-night." Ferro closed her door.

Spunkmeyer found himself blushing, flooded with emotions that had been dormant and undisturbed for almost his whole life.

* * *

_Question: How does the idea of trust differ between each character in the series?_


	4. Chapter 4

The turning of the calendar from September to October brought colder temperatures and anxiety among some of the Marines about going home for the holidays. Spunkmeyer wasn't one of them. He was happy where he was, and it wasn't like he had a family anticipating him anyways.

Snowstorms looming down from the Rockies would trap the Marines inside the base, and shut down any attempts at flight practice. For Ferro, this meant that it could be awhile before she saw another chance to fly. With permission from Evison, she spent most of her hours in a simulator, but it wasn't the same.

October dragged a little. Spunkmeyer found himself missing the afternoons where he'd wander around Central Park. There'd be no more baseball until spring, so he was alone for the next six months. He remembered how there would be field trips to certain events all over the city, but couldn't go due to never getting his permission slip signed. He tried going places on his own, and that wasn't easy. Someone would always say, "Where're your parents, kid?"

Many of those memories were fairly recent. The void in his heart ached as he thought about them.

He also remembered all the times he ventured out into the city, to be alone with his thoughts, to get away from home. He learned more about life just by observing everything around him, compared anything Kendriss taught him, which was close to nothing.

On a Saturday morning near the end of the month, Spunkmeyer was up fairly early. Most people chose to sleep in on the weekends, but he couldn't fall back asleep. There had been a lot of talk of home and family and loved ones among everyone, and every time, it felt like someone was digging in his heart, making that damned hole bigger and more painful.

He knew the others weren't trying to make him sad or angry on purpose, but he couldn't help feeling jealous and lonely.

The sound of someone knocking on the door jolted him from his thoughts. "Uh, c-come in," he said, still pulling himself out of the recesses of his brain.

Ferro peered inside the room. "Good morning."

Spunkmeyer didn't respond right away. "'Morning."

"What's the matter? You don't seem very happy to see me." Ferro closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be taking my problems out on you."

"Well, if it's not me, then what is it?"

Spunkmeyer took a breath, struggling to put his thoughts in words. "You know how everyone's thinking about going home for the holidays already? I . . . I . . ."

"You wish you had that."

"Pretty much."

Ferro nodded. "It's OK. I get it. I can't imagine it's a nice feeling for you." She touched Spunkmeyer's shoulder. "You're not gonna be alone. I promise."

"Really? You'd do that?"

"Yeah. Look, I don't want to stay here if Larkins is gonna be the Grinch, but I'll stay here because I don't want you feeling lonely."

A weak smile crossed Spunkmeyer's face. "Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome. OK, I originally came here to ask if you wanted to get some breakfast, so, would you?"

"Sure. Just let me get dressed."

* * *

Instead of going to the mess hall, Ferro took Spunkmeyer to the recreational part of the base, where they sat down in a tiny diner wedged between the bank and a convenience store. The coffee wasn't as good as the stuff in Denver, but Spunkmeyer put up with it. He thought back to that day out in the city, and it stirred thoughts about telling Ferro more of his story-you know, like the part that he's only sixteen. _I do trust her. Hopefully, I haven't waited too long. _He swallowed nervously, setting his cup down. "Hey, Ferro, look, there's . . . there's something I wanna tell you. I-It's been . . . on my mind for the longest time, and I just . . . I-I need you to know, and I need you . . . to not tell anyone."

Ferro tilted her head a little. "What?"

_I can't do it. I can't do it. She'll start treating me like a child. Just tell her, Danny, it'll show you trust her. _"I'm . . . I-I'm not . . ." he lowered his voice a little, ". . . eighteen."

Ferro frowned, and leaned in to whisper. "You're not what?"

"I'm not eighteen. There. I said it. I'm sixteen. Listen, it's a long story. Please, don't think of me any differently, I-"

"Spunkmeyer, relax. I'm not going to think of you differently, and I won't tell anyone."

"Y-You won't?"

"No, of course not. You know I don't like Larkins. You think I want her knowing? I don't want to see her rip your head off."

Spunkmeyer breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I'm . . . I'm so glad I finally got that off my chest."

"Hey, if it makes you feel better, I was convinced you were eighteen." Ferro smiled. "Lots of people enlist underage. You hear stories about that all the time. I am curious, though, about why you did it."

"I needed to leave home. You know, I . . . it . . ." Spunkmeyer suddenly felt as though the empty spaces in his heart had been blown wide open. He was tired of talking about this, even though he felt like he needed to explain himself. At the same time, it felt like there was a wound that continuously bled, day in and day out. There were no bandages strong enough to make it stop.

Ferro's gaze softened. She looked down at the table, waiting for Spunkmeyer to keep talking, but then looked at him. "You don't have to tell me everything. I've got a good idea of . . . why. I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be sorry. Just don't."

Sighing, Ferro got up to sit next to Spunkmeyer. She put her arms around him, holding him tightly. Rubbing his arm, she whispered, "Everything will be fine. You're on your own. You don't need to worry about your past anymore."

Spunkmeyer realized there were tears running down his face. He didn't want to cry, yet it felt necessary. Sure, it was making the pain in his chest worse, but he felt like it would go away when he finished.

Ferro's hug was so warm. It was a feeling he had been denied for a long time. Kendriss never hugged him. Maybe once or twice when he was really young, but that was all. It was probably never out of love, but a façade of love. His stomach hurt just thinking about that. How many other things had Kendriss not given to him?

Hugging Ferro back, Spunkmeyer rested his friend's head on his shoulder. When they pulled apart, the pain had changed into a slight discomfort from his heart seemingly swelling with emotion. Ferro took a napkin to dry Spunkmeyer's face. She smiled, but she couldn't find the right words to say.

* * *

Corporal Byrd was in his office, writing labels on various bottles of pills and liquid medicine, when Spunkmeyer came in. "Good afternoon," the corpsman said, smiling. "Need something?"

"I . . . don't know." Spunkmeyer closed the door behind him.

Byrd frowned a little. "Have a seat." He put the cap on his pen, and pushed the bottles aside to have full eye contact with Spunkmeyer. "What's going on?"

Spunkmeyer tried to summarize his story as best he could, leaving out everything that would hint at him being underage. "I feel lonely, even though I've been getting along with . . . with Ferro and Herschel and some of the other guys. It . . . I-It constantly feels like there's a big space in my . . . in my heart. At the same time, I feel like I constantly have to explain myself to everyone, a-and I'm so tired of talking about and thinking about . . . the things I don't have that everyone else has. I just wish I could feel . . . what's the right word?"

"Normal. You wish you could feel normal. Look, I'm not well-versed in psychology. Let me give-" Byrd picked up the phone, and went through a small booklet, "Doctor Fristoll a call." He dialed a number, and waited. Spunkmeyer could hear the ringing on the other side. Finally, he heard someone say, "Hello?" Byrd leaned over his desk as he spoke, slowly bouncing his leg. "Hey, I've got a private here who could use . . . a one-on-one session with you. Do you mind if I bring him down?"

"Sure. What's going on?" a female voice on the other line said.

"He was adopted as a baby, and his surrogate mother didn't really care for him. He's telling me that he's struggling with feelings of loneliness and emptiness, and the whole topic really bugs him."

"Alright. Bring him down."

"Thanks." Byrd hung up the phone. "OK, let's go. I promise, I won't say a word to anyone." He led Spunkmeyer deeper into sick bay, following the signs to the psychiatry department. He paused at a door at the very end of a hallway, and knocked.

An older woman with dark, streaked hair answered. "Hello, Corporal."

"Hello, ma'am. This is Private Spunkmeyer." Byrd gestured to Spunkmeyer, who nervously waved.

"It's nice to meet you." Doctor Fristoll held out her hand to Spunkmeyer, who shyly took it. "Come on in, and we'll talk." She offered Spunkmeyer a chair, and sat at her desk. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a jar of candy. "Want one?"

Spunkmeyer moved to take a piece, but stopped, looking hesitant.

"You're a shy one, aren't you. So, Byrd tells me you're having some difficulty with . . . accepting yourself."

"No. I accept myself. I just don't like telling people my past. It . . . kinda feels like I have to explain myself, every single time I meet someone. You know, everyone starts out with small talk, and with me, something will end up prompting me to say to the other person, 'I don't have a family.' They'll ask why, and I have to tell them. I don't like leaving them wondering, because they'll either make assumptions or keep asking me about it. So I spill my guts right then and there."

"Alright. Tell me a bit about . . . growing up. How long have you known that you were adopted?"

"Since the third grade. The teachers were looking at me funny because I really wasn't socializing. I was comfortable, you know, playing by myself and reading by myself, and I think it was when we got taken down to the kindergarten classroom to sit with the younger kids and read to them that my teacher said, 'There's gotta be something wrong with Danny. He's off by himself and he's not taking the initiative to find a kid and read.' So, they brought in a doctor, took me out of class the next day, because they wanted me tested for-aw, what's it called . . . Asperger's. Yeah, Asperger's. They do their thing and the guy's like, 'Neurologically, he's normal. There's gotta be something at home, then.' He calls 'Mom,' and she kinda spilled the beans that she's not my mom.

"Anyways, she just . . . wasn't around. She was a nurse, and she worked from five in the morning to seven at night, sometimes later. All she really did was tell me what to do, what not to touch, and stuff like that. I was fine with that. I'd get up and have breakfast, alone, and then walk down to the school bus because the stop was right below the living room window. In the afternoon, I'd come home, the apartment's empty, and I'd go to my room and do my homework."

"So, you learned a lot of things completely on your own, because you had no choice."

"Pretty much. I had an idea something was wrong. I've kinda . . . always had that empty space in my chest, like I knew that my life wasn't whole. There's a Yankees cap I've had since I was a baby, and it was apparently from my biological father. I didn't know that until I was thirteen, but I always had a feeling there was something special about it."

"That's the only clue you have about your father?"

"Yeah. The chaplain at boot camp actually tried to find him using the cap. He got really, really close, but the guy who owns the store the cap was sold from said that he doesn't keep records for sales older than two years." Spunkmeyer looked down at his lap. "I don't see any other way I can find out who my father is and why he didn't put up more of a fight to keep me. I feel like that's the only way I'm gonna stop feeling so lonely and angry and empty."

"Have you been talking to people here, in training?"

Spunkmeyer nodded. "Private Ferro and I have been getting along good."

"That's a step in the right direction." Fristoll smiled. "Does she ask you a lot about your past?"

"No. I mean, we actually haven't spoken to each other than many times, but we connected quickly."

"Well, having a close friend can help with those feelings of loneliness and emptiness. I would advise you keep that friendship going. Hopefully, you get put in a unit where you're made to feel like family."

Spunkmeyer didn't respond. _This is along the lines of what Captain Jesse said to me when I graduated. Nothing new._ He sighed, feeling the aches in his chest and stomach had dulled somewhat. _That probably means I gotta buck up and put more effort into my friendship with Ferro._

* * *

Another few weeks passed. It was a couple days after Halloween when Spunkmeyer and several other new Marine pilots were taken to the simulation chambers for their first test drops. Evison took Spunkmeyer and another pilot into one simulator, and gave them a brief rundown of the controls.

"Alright, gentlemen, when you feel ready to drop, taken this joystick-right in front of you, Spunkmeyer-and press the button on top. Buckle yourselves in, and wait for my command. I'll be auto-controlling this baby, so don't worry about 'flying' it just yet, right?" Evison patted their shoulders, and checked their harnesses and helmets. "Good to go. Wait for my signal." He jogged out of the simulator, slamming the doors shut behind him.

Spunkmeyer took a deep breath. He had followed Ferro's advice and eaten a really light lunch, but there were still nervous twinges in his gut. Every sound seemed amplified in his helmet. He could hear his heart beating and blood rushing through his head and air moving in and out of his lungs. Suddenly, there was static, and Evison said, "All systems are a go. How're you feeling?"

"Anxious, sir," Spunkmeyer replied.

"You'll be alright. If anything goes wrong, I'll shut the machine off ASAP. Drop when you're ready."

Spunkmeyer kept his "thanks" for Evison in his head. He wrapped his gloved hand around the joystick, taking in a breath. Then he let go of his breath, and pressed the button.

It really did feel like the simulator had detached from a larger transport. Spunkmeyer felt every organ in his torso shoot up into his throat. His breath was forced from his lungs, and he was pushed back in his seat. A second later, everything went black.

". . . Easy now. He's alright, just let him come around." Evison was standing over Spunkmeyer, holding his shoulders. "Good morning!" he said when he saw Spunkmeyer's hazel eyes open.

Confused and unnerved, Spunkmeyer tried to adjust himself in his seat. As he did, his stomach protested the slight movement.

"You need the bucket, mate?"

"Don't think so. What . . . What happened?"

"You blacked out. Perfectly normal if you haven't done this before. You'll get used to it. Unbuckle yourself, and go sit for a few minutes."

Unsteadily, Spunkmeyer got out of the simulator, gripping the railing tightly. He stumbled over to a bench near the door, and sat down. The contents of his stomach were still moving, like waves on rough seas. He was certain he'd throw up soon, and he leaned over, gagging.

"Sit up and take a deep breath, rat turd," Larkins ordered when she walked over to him. "Don't even think about puking on this floor."

His anxiety around Larkins just made the nausea worse. Spunkmeyer took a breath, trying not to think about it. For a moment, his stomach seemed to settle, and he relaxed. _Ignore her. Think about something pleasant. Think about Ferro. _He thought about her warm hugs and her smile. He thought about the long conversations they'd have early in the morning and late at night, either in his room or her room. They'd talk about everything on their minds. Sometimes, all Ferro needed was a shoulder to cry on, and Spunkmeyer needed someone to listen to him.

Larkins didn't like the way the look on Spunkmeyer's face changed. "What're you thinking about?"

"N-Nothing."

"You're thinking about something good. I can tell. What is it? Tell me before I shake the shit outta you."

Spunkmeyer gulped.

"Leave him alone, Larkins," Evison called. "You feeling better, Spunkmeyer?"

"A-A little."

"Come over here, then." As Spunkmeyer approached, Evison whispered, "I'm not putting you back in the machine just yet. I'm just getting you away from her."

"I can get through this. Put me back in."

"You'll be sick as a dog. No." Evison then paused, and sighed. "Let me give this next group their test, and then you can try again, alright?"

Spunkmeyer sat with a few other Marines, waiting for Evison to call him. He found himself getting nervous again as he sat, and took a few deep breaths. He knew what to expect. Surely, this test would go smoother.

Several minutes later, Evison took Spunkmeyer back into the simulator. "You know what to do. Wait for my signal, and press the button."

Spunkmeyer nodded. "Understood, sir." He took another breath, waiting to hear Evison's voice in his headset.

"When you're ready, press the button to drop."

This time, Spunkmeyer didn't hesitate. He pressed down hard on the button, again being yanked back into his seat and feeling his organs move awkwardly. He blacked out a second time, but came to quicker. As he focused his vision, he tried drawing in a breath, and could feel himself leaving the seat a little. Suddenly, he felt the seat beneath him again, and the movement stopped.

Well, the simulator stopped moving. His insides didn't.

Stumbling out of the machine, Spunkmeyer groped around for the nearest trash can. He grabbed the one by the door, hurling his lunch into it.

Evison walked over. "I figured it'd all come up sooner or later. Go have some water, wash out your mouth, and lie down. You're done for the day, mate."

This time, Spunkmeyer didn't argue.

* * *

_Question: How does Spunkmeyer's background allow him to put up with someone like Larkins?_

_Author's Note: To answer a question from Denal Douglas, so far, there will be more stories like this (a Wierzbowski-centric one might be on the horizon). If you're referring to another Spunkmeyer/Ferro story, I'll definitely consider it._


	5. Chapter 5

Spunkmeyer was having bad dreams about the drop tests. He dreamt that he couldn't drop without blacking out, or throwing up. He dreamt about the machine malfunctioning, and it would "drop" him, over and over again.

They were just bad dreams. Manifestations of his worst fears. Although, he knew for certain they weren't his absolute _worst_ fears ever.

His worst dreams weren't about the drops. They weren't about Kendriss, or his father. They were about Evison. About Evison leaving without telling him. For some reason, he couldn't figure out why that bothered him so much.

Several Marines were already leaving for Thanksgiving. Evison would drive to the airport with them, leaving Larkins in charge for about an hour. Everyone would hide out in their rooms until Evison came back. There was a day where Spunkmeyer was stuck in Ferro's room, but he was fine with that.

"I'm guessing Kendriss didn't do anything for the holidays," Ferro said.

"Well, technically, she did. She'd leave me alone in the apartment while going off to see her own family. I got used to it. It was pretty rare that I got see her family, namely her parents, but she explicitly told me not to say 'Grandma and Grandpa.'"

"That's just sad."

Spunkmeyer shrugged. "I just said 'OK' and dealt with it."

"So, you've never had a real . . . holiday. No Thanksgiving or Christmas or anything."

"It was acknowledged, but she-Kendriss-wouldn't really care all that much. I'd come home with projects from school, and God only knows what happened to 'em. I know I didn't see them on the fridge the next morning. It was just . . . very detached is the best way to describe her." Spunkmeyer sighed. "Oh, well. I'm not around her anymore, and hopefully, I'll be able to celebrate holidays like a normal human being."

"You know, I wish I could take you to my parents' house in Michigan, but they'd be leaning over and whispering, 'Are you dating him?' And, I don't want you feeling like you need to tell everyone your story."

"Thanks."

"Look, we won't have a real home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner, but, as far as I know, we don't do anything during those few days, so, maybe we can go to a restaurant or something."

"That's fine by me. Hey, don't worry about it seeming lame; it'll probably be the best Thanksgiving dinner in my whole life so far."

* * *

Evison approached Spunkmeyer as he headed into the mess hall for lunch. "Pack light. I'm taking you to the simulators to do your test again. I really want you to start flying soon."

Spunkmeyer didn't respond, but he did appreciate Evison wanting to further his training quickly. About an hour after lunch, he met up with Evison in the simulator room, along with a few other Marines who also needed to pass their drop tests.

"Go on in." Evison gently nudged Spunkmeyer toward one of the machines. "Buckle yourself in, and I'll come around to check on you."

Sitting in the co-pilot's seat, Spunkmeyer put on a helmet, and started strapping himself in. He took a deep breath while waiting for Evison's signal.

The Australian lieutenant's voice filled his headset. "Alright. Drop when ready."

Spunkmeyer squeezed the button. He was jerked back in his seat, and felt like clawed hands had grabbed every organ in his belly, yanking them to the back of their cavities. A few minutes later, the movement stopped. Spunkmeyer looked around. His insides felt jostled, but he didn't feel like vomiting. He hadn't even blacked out. Releasing his breath, Spunkmeyer began pulling off his helmet. _Holy shit, I did it._

Evison helped him out of the simulator. "How're you feeling, mate?"

"F-Fine."

"Queasy at all?"

"Not like last week."

"Passed out?"

"No."

Evison smiled at him. "After Thanksgiving, we'll get you started on your flight hours. I'm proud of you."

_I'm proud of you._ That wasn't something Spunkmeyer had heard very often. He swallowed past a lump in his throat, and looked up at Evison with tears in his eyes.

Evison understood. He patted Spunkmeyer's shoulder. "You got a ways to go. Just don't give up."

A dull ache started in Spunkmeyer's chest. It quickly turned into an intense tearing sensation. He looked down, refusing to show Evison how he felt. _This is why . . . This is why him leaving shows up in my nightmares._ Spunkmeyer swallowed hard.

"Are you alright, mate?" Evison asked.

"Y-Yeah . . . I'm fine."

* * *

When he wasn't spending time with Ferro, Spunkmeyer was reading over the controls of a dropship and other aircraft he might have to fly during his service. He had no idea if it was going to be just Evison training him on his first day, so he'd rather not look like a fool if he got stuck with Larkins.

With the holidays upon everyone, training slowed to a crawl. The only thing that hadn't slowed was Larkins's attitude. "They signed up for this. They shouldn't be shirking out of their training to go home and slack off," she snapped while Evison was loading luggage in the back of his van.

"Just because you don't take a break doesn't mean they can't," Evison replied. "I'll be back in an hour."

Spunkmeyer immediately ducked back into the living quarters hallway, and knocked on Ferro's door. "Evison's gone. Let me in, quick!"

Ferro opened the door, and pulled Spunkmeyer inside. "Oh, I almost forgot-I asked Evison for bus passes tomorrow." She grinned. "You excited?"

"For what?"

"We're gonna go out and have fun tomorrow. Tomorrow's Thanksgiving, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Serious question, though, what're we gonna do if everywhere's closed for the holiday?"

"There's usually a couple places open. We'll find something."

"Well, no offense, but I want to do more than just sit and eat."

"Look at Christmas stuff? You know we're allowed to put some decorations in our rooms, right?"

"No, I didn't know that."

"As long as you can easily take it down and store it, yeah. Larkins thinks it's stupid and turns our quarters into college dorms, but Evison said it's a good way to give ourselves a taste of home and change things up a little." Ferro handed Spunkmeyer one of the bus passes. "We'll have to be careful of early Black Friday shoppers."

"No, _you_ will. I know how to handle crowds. Just stick close to me and we'll get out alive." Spunkmeyer grinned.

The conversation died, and the two were glancing around, trying to find something else to talk about. At times, they found themselves staring at each other, similar to before they had ever spoken to each other almost two months ago. A nervous smile crossed Spunkmeyer's face, and he shyly waved, just like the morning of the day they first became friends.

And Ferro waved back, smiling and laughing. "You know, I really wish you were my flight partner."

"I don't have a flight partner yet, but, yeah, I wish it could be you. Although . . . can't you get your partner changed?"

"That's up to Evison."

"Well, he's reasonable. Can't we request-"

"You haven't even flown in a simulator yet. If I wanted to wait for you to catch up, it'd . . . it'd delay my graduation even further, and I don't want that."

Spunkmeyer felt like an icicle had been driven into his gut. He wasn't sure what to say, and looked away, not wanting Ferro to see his disappointment. Finally, he turned back, and said, "Wouldn't you be happier getting sent to a unit with me instead of-"

"I want to get out of here, Spunkmeyer! I'm not waiting anymore! I'm sorry!"

The icicle pierced in harder. The coldness weaved its way around his insides, and there was a feeling similar to if Ferro had simply decided to just punch him. Without another word, Spunkmeyer stood up, and left the room. He was tempted to give back the bus pass, but decided it was better if he went and ventured around by himself.

He sat alone in his room for the next hour, his father's cap on his left knee. His thoughts were aimless, and he was unsure of how to feel. Mainly, he was angry at Ferro. He was certain they had built up a good relationship. Instead, she was perfectly willing to throw it away.

"Spunkmeyer? You in there, mate?" Evison knocked on the door.

"Yeah. Whaddaya want?" Spunkmeyer sighed.

"Just checking up on you." Evison glanced out into the hall. "Ferro told me that she may've upset you over . . . not wanting to be your flight partner."

"Well, she's right. I'm upset. I don't care anymore."

"You do care. I know deep down you do. It's OK for you be upset over this, but don't let it blind you. Look at me, Spunkmeyer-" Evison looked stern, but sympathetic, "you will find someone you can work well with and serve with your entire career."

"I feel like that someone is Ferro."

"Think about this rationally, mate; you really haven't trained together. You are good friends, yes, but that doesn't translate to the workplace. Can you two function well in an environment where it is absolutely necessary to put your emotions aside? We don't know-"

"Let us find out! Let me train with her! Let her teach me!"

Evison sighed. "Let me think about this. I've given you a lot. No new Marine should ever get this kind of treatment from their instructors. There's a reason why, in the beginning, we're told to treat everyone the same, no matter their background. I felt sorry for you, and I shouldn't have. Do not speak of this to anyone, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Go to the mess hall for lunch, mate."

* * *

"This is the first time in two months you sat with us, Spunkmeyer," Herschel said, giving Spunkmeyer a quizzical look. "Had a falling-out with Ferro?"

"I don't wanna talk about about it," Spunkmeyer replied.

"She break your heart?"

"I said, I don't want to talk about it. I'll punch your nose in if you bring it up again."

"Fine. Relax." Herschel was quiet for a moment. "Good to hear you're gonna start using the simulator next week. Heard some rumors about who they're pairing you up with."

"Good rumors or bad rumors?"

"It depends, I guess. The one name I've been hearing is Larrin."

"Larrin. I forgot, when did he arrive?"

"A couple weeks after you. Larkins thinks he'd be a good match for you. He's already got a week in the simulator."

"Already?"

"He didn't puke or pass out on his first drop test. Larkins got him flying the next day."

Spunkmeyer sighed. "Jesus, I hate her. I hate what she's done to Ferro. I hate what she's done to me. I hate how she treats Evison-"

"Welcome to the party, Spunkmeyer. You don't have to like her, but you do have to respect her. You need her signature in order to graduate."

"Whatever. What's Larrin like?"

"Very smart. Kinda quiet. Knows how to give and take orders. Supposedly, you'll be his co-pilot." Herschel took a sip of his water. "You'll have plenty of time to get to know each other. Don't worry."

_I hope so. He probably won't be as good as Ferro._ Spunkmeyer lost his appetite. He got up to toss his food in a garbage can, and went back to sulking in his room.

His first real encounter with Larrin was that night in the shower. Larrin was tall and had a somewhat lanky build. He didn't say anything to anyone as he went about his business, but he paused when he saw Spunkmeyer approaching him from the corner of his eye. "Can I help you?"

"Not with anything in particular," Spunkmeyer said. "I . . . heard from somewhere that we might be paired up in flight training next week."

Larrin thought for a moment while hanging his towel on a metal hook outside a shower stall. "You must be Spunkmeyer, then."

"Yeah."

"Nice to meet you. I was told by Lieutenant Larkins that you're a bit of a slow learner, and that since I'm ahead, I can help you start getting your hours needed for graduation."

_She actually said that. And behind my back._ Spunkmeyer swallowed past a lump in his throat. "I'm really not a slow learner."

"Hey, Larkins has nothing positive to say about anyone. Don't take it personally. Anyway, I do look forward to working with you."

"Really?"

"Ferro speaks highly of you. She's been feeling a lot better since befriending you." Larrin disappeared behind the shower curtain, and Spunkmeyer felt like two forces were trying to tear his heart apart.

* * *

There was a clashing blend of excitement and anxiety within Spunkmeyer in the week following Thanksgiving. He stood in formation with a group of other pilots, listening to Larkins's instructions and rules on the simulators. After telling everyone that half of them probably wouldn't pass, Larkins ordered everyone to find their assigned partner and pick a machine.

Larrin was already putting his harness on when Spunkmeyer approached him. "Take the initiative," Larrin whispered. "Go get your harness and your helmet."

"Where?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"In the machine."

Spunkmeyer began climbing up the ladder, reaching inside to grab a harness and a helmet. As he came down, he felt someone grab the back of his jacket and yank him off the ladder.

"_Just what the FUCK are you doing, rat turd?! Who told you to go in there, huh?! WHO?!_" Larkins pushed Spunkmeyer against the side of the machine.

"I-I-I was getting my harness! I was-"

"_NO ONE gave you the order to go in your simulator!_ Get on the ground, in push-up position!" Larkins put her boot on Spunkmeyer's back. "You're gonna stay there until I say 'get up.'"

"Ma'am," Larrin spoke up, "I told him to get his harness and helmet. My apologies."

"Unlike him, you've actually proved yourself responsible enough to do some minor tasks before we get started."

Larrin dropped eye contact with Larkins, simply nodding.

Spunkmeyer glanced to his left to see Ferro looking at him from across the chamber. She looked sorry for him.

Evison noticed as well, and walked over, appearing as though he was trying to control a boiling anger. "Pretty sure General Paulson talked about this last time he visited. We save shit like this for boot camp, not specialized training."

Larkins gestured to Spunkmeyer. "He went in before anyone told him-"

"From what I saw, all he was doing was getting his bloody harness! You need to learn when to just let things go!"

"I should report to Paulson about how you're coddling everyone in this Goddamn base."

"You think he's gonna take your side? Really? After he's witnessed you yell at Marines for no reason other than to make yourself appear dominant? After he received a report that you may have been the reason six Marines either dropped out or changed jobs? Paulson's a fair man, but he knows a bitch when he sees one. I don't coddle people. I want what's best for everyone in here as much as you do. They graduated boot camp. The next phase is teaching them their job. They had discipline instilled in them. They know the rules. Now, they need to receive their real training, and start making a life for themselves. They're human beings, they can't deal with this kind of treatment forever. Twelve weeks, and whatever they had to deal with at home is enough." Evison took a breath. "I'm only saying this once. I've worked with you a long time, and I believe you have the potential to change for the better. You're really starting to kill that. Now, get off Spunkmeyer, and let's get this fucking course started."

There was a short period of silence after Larrin and Spunkmeyer got in the simulator. As Spunkmeyer got settled in the co-pilot's seat, Larrin looked at him over his shoulder. "I think the problem is more about Evison and Larkins not being able to find a solution together. All they do is argue; they don't actually sit down and talk."

Spunkmeyer opened his mouth, wanting to defend Evison. He then reminded himself of what the lieutenant said two weeks ago, about how his superiors weren't supposed to be so friendly with their trainees. Plus, what Larrin said made sense.

Another feeling surfaced, though, one that Spunkmeyer knew for damn sure he should never, ever describe to anyone: Evison was the closest thing he had to a father. Calling Evison a friend, or a father figure, would land him in as much trouble as if it was revealed he was underage. So he kept quiet.

"Just my opinion, though," Larrin said. "I've noticed you get along fairly well with Evison."

Spunkmeyer felt ill.

"Most of us do. He's a very likable Marine. Personally, I think he needs to toughen up a little-not like Larkins, but enough so people don't look at him like he coddles us." Larrin adjusted his helmet, and looked at Spunkmeyer again. "Are you alright? You look like you're about to be sick."

"I . . . must've ate something bad for breakfast," Spunkmeyer replied.

"Ah. Well, if you need to step out, don't be afraid to say something. Oh, don't forget you're the one dropping us." Larrin smiled, like he was trying to get Spunkmeyer's mind onto the task at hand.

Ten more minutes passed before Evison inspected their setup. "Answer any questions Spunkmeyer has, alright? Don't be ashamed of anything. Most people don't do well their first simulator flight. Now, Larrin, you have the coordinates?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Put them in the computer."

Spunkmeyer glanced at a small screen in front of him. Larrin's coordinates appeared a few seconds later.

"Your computer should be guiding you along the way. Spunkmeyer, make sure you relay anything abnormal to Larrin, so he can avoid it, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Spunkmeyer muttered.

"You doing alright?"

"He said he ate something bad at breakfast," Larrin said. "Wasn't sure if he should sit this out."

"I feel better. Just a cramp." Spunkmeyer glared at Larrin, not appreciating him trying to speak for him.

"If it gets worse, say something, mate. If you ever feel sick during a real flight, that can have bad consequences." Evison patted Spunkmeyer's shoulder, and gave Larrin's helmet a friendly slap. "Right. Wait for my signal, gentlemen."

The doors closed, and the two were alone as the sound of an airlock opening filled the simulator. Larrin glanced at Spunkmeyer again. "You're sure you're alright? This is your last chance to say you don't feel ready."

"I feel fine, dammit!"

"Drop when ready, Spunkmeyer," Evison said through their headsets.

Angrily, Spunkmeyer pressed the button on the joystick. Both he and Larrin jolted back in their seats as the dropship "fell" from a troop transport. Larrin cursed as he got a proper grip on his controls, holding them tightly as they shot through the atmosphere of an unnamed planet.

"Turbulence up ahead," Spunkmeyer said.

"Got it," Larrin replied. His voice wavered as they were rattled around by the manufactured turbulence. "Any damage to the hull?"

"No."

"Marvelous. Going into manual control. Fifty miles until we reach the coordinates."

Spunkmeyer was quiet as they flew. He was surprised at how smooth this was going, but he wondered if he'd just jinxed it by thinking that. "I thought this was going to be a little harder," he said, pulling his mike away from his mouth so Evison didn't hear him.

"I've been doing this for a few weeks. You're not the one doing the heavy lifting. If something happened and I had to relay control to you, then we might have some issues. It's landing that might be a bit a tricky. You have to press the right button at the right time, or else we're plowing into the ground." Larrin kept his eyes on the windshield. "Depressing weather, huh."

"Just overcast. No rain, no heavy wind."

"Regardless. In cloudy weather, do your best to fly low so you can see. The computer doesn't pick up on everything, so keep your vision sharp. Your eyes and your gut instincts are generally more reliable."

"Thanks for the advice."

"My pleasure."

Spunkmeyer was starting to think that Larrin wasn't so bad after all, but a large part of him still wished he was with Ferro.

* * *

_Author's Note: I'd like to give a big thanks to Denal Douglas for helping me out when I started getting frustrated with this story. I do apologize for the sudden changes, but I felt they were best for the story._


	6. Chapter 6

Despite feeling cramped and disoriented after spending more than half the day inside the simulator, Spunkmeyer was overjoyed at the fact that he was moving forward in his training. He left the machine, expecting Evison to tell him that he did good for his first try, but the lieutenant was elsewhere, assisting someone else. Even when Evison looked in Spunkmeyer's direction, he did nothing, simply returning to his duties.

Spunkmeyer forced himself not to care. That was too easy to do, but he did it anyway. There was no pressuring someone not interested in the first place to give a crap. It didn't stop the feeling of another claw digging into his heart and tearing part of it out, though. He was pretty sure that, soon, there'd be nothing left for it to rip out.

"Make sure you stretch a little," Larrin said behind him. "It'll keep you from waking up in excruciating pain tomorrow morning, and keep blood flowing. You don't want limbs falling asleep at the worst possible times."

Spunkmeyer nodded, not even trying to keep his thoughts from dwelling on the painful empty space in his chest. He wasn't paying attention to Larrin in the slightest.

"You alright? You seem a bit lost." Larrin tossed his harness back into the simulator. "You did alright today. I'm impressed. I knew Larkins was probably wrong about you being slow, but I wasn't expecting you to be so . . . collected, I guess."

_Why do I feel like bawling my eyes out right now?_ Spunkmeyer felt a sudden urge to run away, and be left alone. Disappearing altogether sounded good, too.

"Spunkmeyer? Hey, are you in there?"

"No. Just leave me alone." Spunkmeyer stormed out of the chamber, unable to hold back the torrent of emotions anymore. He jogged to his quarters, and slammed the door behind him. The tears flowed freely; he sobbed without caring if someone was going to hear him outside. He thought back to his second encounter with Ferro, after she nearly crashed on the runway. "_How could I get so far, and yet not go anywhere at all?"_

It was obvious Evison had made a mistake by being kind to him when they first met. Or maybe Spunkmeyer made a mistake by not telling him right off the bat what was wrong. What's done was done, though. These feelings had to stop before they got out of hand. That meant someone had to know, in order to help him. That someone was Ferro.

Sometime before lights-out, Spunkmeyer knocked on Ferro's door. "You still up? I need to talk to you."

Ferro opened the door. "No, I'm fast asleep and can't hear you. What is it?"

"In private." Spunkmeyer walked in, closing the door behind him. "I need help."

"With what?"

"Today, I got to fly with Larrin, and after getting out, I . . . I expected Evison to say something to me. Everything just . . . crashed in me, and I felt like . . . kinda like you did after you had that bad landing a few months ago. I know I shouldn't have any kind of emotional attachment to a superior, period, but, with Evison . . . just . . . feels like the father I didn't have."

Ferro thought for a moment. "I get it, because you didn't have any supportive adult figures in your life at all. The first person to show you kindness just happened to be your commanding officer. You do realize that no matter the excuse, you and Evison could get in a lot of trouble. You could get kicked out. Evison could be stripped of his rank and sent to work a desk job at basic training for God knows how long. It could ruin both of you. Didn't he tell you that he shouldn't be giving you anything?"

"He did."

"Well, there's your solution. Don't let that feeling overwhelm you. Keep telling yourself that he's your superior, and you need to maintain a professional relationship. Imagine if _Larkins_ found out. You'd be screwed. She'd probably paint her bedroom wall with both your guts and Evison's."

Spunkmeyer nodded, knowing Ferro had a point. "So, act like he's no different than Kendriss."

"If it works, yeah."

"I can do that." In truth, Spunkmeyer didn't know if he could. Evison was too kind. There was no way he could pretend Evison was Kendriss.

* * *

That tactic seemed to work over the next several days, since Evison didn't really talk to Spunkmeyer following his first simulator flight. As training progressed, Spunkmeyer found himself busy with learning various flight techniques, landing, what to do in an emergency, evacuating wounded, and the list went on. The only time Evison spoke to him was during training. The more Spunkmeyer pretended, the more it hurt. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He wanted so badly for someone to notice, to care, anything. He wanted to scream that he didn't care that Evison was his superior.

_This feels so childish,_ Spunkmeyer thought.

The calendar changed to December, and training started to slow again. There was a day where it stopped altogether, because of a visitor.

Spunkmeyer had heard much about General Paulson, but had never seen him in person. It was pretty obvious, when Spunkmeyer did see him, that he had a lot of faith in Evison; he was seen walking alongside him, but never with Larkins. He was tall, thin, and had the appearance of a fairly young grandfather instead of an officer. Nevertheless, he had a reputation for being competent.

When he left the mess hall after dinner, Spunkmeyer overheard Evison talking with Paulson and some of his staff in one of the classrooms. ". . . Based on your reports, I'd say you have a good batch of new Marines on your hands," Paulson was saying.

"Larkins has the majority of their records, sir. If you want, I can bring them to you," Evison said.

"I know it seems unprofessional for me to say this, but I don't trust her reporting. Her standards are highly exaggerated, way beyond what we expect instructors of any specialization to have."

"Please, sir, explain to me why she hasn't been transferred."

"This is her job. She signed up for this upon enlistment. There is no record in her training in anything that would make for a smooth transition. I know you don't think of her as having feelings, but to force her to start training in something else, where she'd be surrounded by people far younger than her, constantly, and being talked down to by someone of her own rank, would be crushing. Unless she requests it, there's nothing I can do."

"I'm not exactly thrilled to be waking up every morning and being told I coddle my Marines. I've dealt with it long enough, and I've given up any hope on Larkins changing."

"Son, as far as I know, you haven't been putting in the effort. She's not going to change on her own; you need to help out with that."

"It's been far too long. She'll resist me at every-"

"You haven't even tried. Try, and then come back to me. If things don't work out, maybe it'd be best you request a transfer."

Evison was silent for a moment. "I'll have to think about that, sir. I don't feel like leaving all my Marines behind, though."

"As I've already stated, you need to start holding up your end of the bargain when it comes to working with Larkins. Don't be so quick to get angry with her, and try to actually communicate with her."

"How do I do that without putting the physical and mental health of my Marines at risk?"

"Use your common sense. Now, is there anything else I need to know about?"

"No, sir-well, actually, there is one thing." Evison lowered his voice. "What can I do for someone who . . . needs some help, emotionally? Please, don't mistake this for something terrible. It's-"

"What kind of problem are we talking about here?"

"Giving somebody the recognition and attention they didn't get when they were younger. I completely understand that giving any Marine extra attention that doesn't involve training is against the rules, and it is my fault. I felt sorry for him."

"Don't be ashamed of the fact that you feel sorry for him. It is a normal, human thing to feel."

"Sir-"

"A good commanding officer should be seen as a father figure to his Marines. You obviously projected that image to this Marine in particular. For that, you should be proud."

Again, Evison became silent.

"That doesn't mean dote on him or give him things you would never give someone else under your command, but, you should still be there if he needs someone on his side."

* * *

Hearing that conversation gave Spunkmeyer a small sense of relief. He wasn't crazy or desperate and he wasn't breaking any rules. He let the whole thing go, and was able to put more focus into his training as a result. It just didn't seem worth dwelling on anymore. Life went on.

Christmas and New Year's passed. Spunkmeyer missed about two weeks of training due to a bad cold, but at least Ferro was with him for most of that time. He didn't recall his training partner ever making the effort to see if he was OK outside of when they were actually working together. A little interaction outside the simulator would go a long way, and Spunkmeyer wasn't seeing it.

As he progressed in his training, so did Ferro. Spunkmeyer continued to fear that he wouldn't get the chance to train with her, but he took notice of the fact that she was progressing a lot slower than he was. He estimated it would take about a month for him to catch up with her.

In that time, he worked to push himself further, and that didn't sit well with Larrin.

"We're supposed to be following the instructions in the manual," Larrin said. "You're proposing we try out an extremely dangerous evasive tactic, and you are not experienced enough to-"

"When am I gonna be experienced enough in your mind?" Spunkmeyer asked. "I dunno how many times you've said that to me. We've been working together for almost five months, and you never once said I have 'enough experience' to much of anything."

"That is what I have observed with you." Larrin gave Spunkmeyer a hard look. "In the field, your impatience could get us killed. Not only that, you could endanger the lives of the Marines we're in change of transporting. That is why I keep saying you don't have enough experience."

"I've been patient long enough. We haven't gotten a lotta bad marks on any of our test flights. Evison says I'm gaining experience."

"He says that to everyone. Much like how Larkins says we're all stupid and shouldn't pass."

Spunkmeyer took a breath, keeping his anger from boiling to the surface. "You just don't have any faith in me, do you?"

"I had a lot of faith in you when we were first assigned together. As we grew to know each other, I saw exactly what you are. Having been rejected by the people around you so many times, you've become desperate to please everyone, and you think the only way to do that is to impress them, take one step ahead of everyone else. You are brash, reckless, and the only reason you are here is so you can escape your adoptive parent. That's all you care about. You have no desire for learning. You have no passion for your job. The only reason you are trying to push yourself is so you can get out of here and do whatever the hell it is your simple little heart wants to do. Caring about the people around you is second in your mind, and it's the first thing the Marines want you to do. That's the basis around every single one of our jobs-helping our fellow Marines, as well as the civilians we protect. You don't have that drive. You've been blinded by your life experiences. You shouldn't be here."

"Are you saying I'm selfish? You haven't even bothered to talk to me outside of training. You don't know anything about me aside from what I told you."

"Unlike you, I don't spend my free hours flirting with Private Ferro."

"Honestly, I cannot believe you'd make all these assumptions after you were so nice to me back in November. Hell, I wouldn't have gotten so far if it wasn't for you."

Larrin's calm composure was beginning to falter. "I just told you, you dimwitted fuck-face, that I gave you a chance. I would rather not get stuck with someone like you in the field."

* * *

Since he couldn't find Ferro in the mess hall during lunch, Spunkmeyer sat across from Herschel. Before he could say anything, Herschel held up his hand.

"I know."

"You know what?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"What happened during training."

"You mean with . . . Larrin and-"

"Yeah. He was gonna explode on you sooner or later."

Spunkmeyer frowned. "So, you knew about this, and you didn't say a Goddamn word?"

"What good was it gonna do? He'd just get more pissed."

"Well, I'm pissed that he had this mask of 'oh, I'm a nice guy, I'll help you. I'll ask if you're OK every time we get in the fucking simulator.' He lied to me. I am so sick of people lying to me. It's like they think I'm an absolute fucking dummy. Not only did he lie to me, but he thinks I'm here because all I want to do is escape my home life. Part of that is true." Spunkmeyer sighed, a sudden realization surfacing in his mind. "Maybe all of it is true. This . . . This wasn't my first choice. Hell, I didn't really have any choices. Once I found out I was adopted, I . . . all I wanted to do was escape."

"It doesn't make your path invalid. I'm sure there're other people who joined the military because they felt it'd be an easy way out of their home life. Besides, I was gonna tell you about . . . what I heard from Larrin." Herschel moved closer, leaning over the table so he could whisper to Spunkmeyer. "He went home over the holidays and found out his dad had been killed in an accident. Helping a neighbor get heavy snow off the roof, and a big chunk of ice fell down and took him out almost instantly."

A feeling of pity emerged in the pit of Spunkmeyer's stomach. "Why would he take it out on me, though? I didn't kill his father."

"That's what grief does. Plus, you don't know your parents. You don't know what it's like to lose someone after they've been in your life so long. He sees you as a perfect target to explode on because you don't understand it."

Spunkmeyer swallowed past a lump in his throat. "That's not fair," he whispered.

"I know, but I wouldn't advise trying to argue with someone who's grieving."

"Why should I care? He called me a 'dimwitted fuck-face!' He told me I shouldn't be here!"

"Spunkmeyer, stop."

"No. I'm done trying to care. There's almost no one here I want to give a damn to anymore. If this is how I'm gonna be treated for the rest of my life, fuck all of you. You've done nothing for me."

* * *

Of course, Spunkmeyer didn't mean those words when he left the mess hall. Tears streaming down his face, he headed to Evison's office, hoping and praying he could get some form of help. He was done hiding from Evison. _I need to be honest about how I'm feeling. It's the only way I'll be able to solve anything._

The door was wide open, and he could see Evison scrolling through some important documents on his computer. He glanced over when he saw Spunkmeyer approaching. "You need something, mate?"

"I need to know something, sir." Spunkmeyer closed the door behind him, and sat in a chair in front of Evison's desk. He tried to get his words out, but began sobbing instead. "Am I . . . not meant to be here?"

"'Here' as in 'training,' or-"

"Yeah."

"Well, you signed up, you passed boot camp, and you're here, so, you are meant to be here."

"Not like that. I mean . . . just today, I was told that I'm only here so I can escape, that I'm impatient and reckless and-"

"I heard. Most everyone on base heard. It's not a secret." Evison turned in his seat to face Spunkmeyer. "Everyone has their own reasons for coming here. Yours are no less valid than mine, or Ferro's, or Larrin's. I don't think it's right what Larrin said to you. Even Larkins agreed it wasn't right."

Spunkmeyer was silent for a moment, struggling to process his thoughts. "He is right, though. I came here because I wanted to escape, and I'm . . . very selfish. How's anyone supposed to care about me when I don't care about them? How am I supposed to succeed here if I don't make an effort to . . . actually be a Marine?"

"You've made a lot more effort than you think you have. I would hope, that, if your real parents could see you, they'd be proud of you."

"What if they don't even care?"

"Know that I'm proud of you."

"I thought you-"

"Having pride in you isn't against the rules. I'm not giving you advantages or favors because of it." Evison gave a slight smile. "Duly noted, we should keep that between us."

"Am I still going to have to work with Larrin tomorrow?"

"No. Guess who finally lost her shit with her partner as well."

* * *

_Question: How would Spunkmeyer's experience with Larrin impact his relationship with Hicks?_


	7. Chapter 7

"You're kidding me."

Evison's grin got wider. "Not in the slightest. Right before lunch, Ferro completely exploded on her flight partner. Absolute, pent-up rage I've never seen in any human being I've met before."

Spunkmeyer nodded a little. He could see Ferro becoming completely vengeful if enough buttons were pressed. "She's told me that her and her partner don't get along that well."

"Don't get me wrong, Syddell is a perfectly competent Marine pilot, but she's . . ." Evison thought for a moment, "not the greatest at picking up emotional cues from people. She didn't really try to console Ferro after she started falling behind."

"That's ridiculous."

"I know. I know. Anyway, Ferro finally gave Syddell a piece of her mind, and it wasn't pretty. It was a lot of yelling and it got considerably worse when Larkins got involved." Evison gave a low whistle. "Fucking _ugly_. Props to Ferro for not breaking down and crying. She still had the energy in her to scream right back at Larkins. The bitch nearly punted Ferro across the hangar."

Something twisted in Spunkmeyer's gut at the thought of Larkins almost getting violent with Ferro. "No one got hurt?"

"Not physically. I kept it from getting worse."

"I'm guessing Ferro got in a lot of trouble, though."

"She spent two hours in the brig. That's it. Her and Syddell are now longer partners, and I think you're far enough along to where she can catch you up easily."

The twisting manifested into a ball, and it dropped. "So . . . Ferro and I . . . can work together?"

Evison nodded. "I've already got you two paired up on my list. You'll start flying together tomorrow."

A light feeling filled up Spunkmeyer's chest. A happiness he hadn't felt in a long time. He suddenly felt as though he could conquer the world, and spit in the eyes of anyone who told him he meant nothing.

* * *

It was long past lights-out when Spunkmeyer crept across the hall to Ferro's room. Every door was unlocked, so he had no trouble quietly getting in, and closing the door behind him. Ferro was sound asleep, papers and manuals scattered about the room. Spunkmeyer knelt by her bed, watching her breathe for a moment before gently shaking her shoulder. "Hey. Hey, Ferro, wake up."

She didn't respond.

He shook her again. "_Psst_. Ferro . . . wake up. It's me, Spunkmeyer."

Her eyes slowly opened, and she jolted backward with a gasp, grabbing a notebook to swat him. "What the hell are you doing here?! We could get in-"

"_Shh_. Relax. We'll get in trouble if you don't keep your voice down."

"What do you want? It's eleven o'clock at night."

"I got good news. In exactly . . ." Spunkmeyer looked at his watch, "eight hours, we'll be flying together in a simulator." He smiled. "Ain't that great?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Me and you got paired up. Evison informed me of that earlier today."

"Are you serious?"

Spunkmeyer nodded.

Ferro was clearly still waking up. She ran her fingers through her short hair, and then threw her arms around Spunkmeyer, squeezing him tightly until she could feel his heart beating against her wrists. "You sure you're ready?"

"I've been ready for a long time. I'm so excited, I can't sleep." Spunkmeyer hugged Ferro back, just as tight. He could still feel the empty space in his heart, but it didn't ache as bad. _Things are getting better._

* * *

"You did manage to get some sleep eventually, right?" Ferro asked.

Spunkmeyer was strapping himself into the co-pilot's seat of the simulator. "Yeah. About . . . five hours, I think."

"That's not enough. Don't start falling asleep back there, OK?"

"I'll be fine."

Ferro sighed, but she was also smiling. "If you say so. All set?"

"Yeah." Spunkmeyer adjusted his helmet. "Just waiting for Evison."

"I'm right here, mate." Evison tugged on Spunkmeyer's straps, making sure he was in tight. "You two should know all this by now."

"It's the rules, sir."

"I know." Evison smirked. "Just messing around with you. Now, your mission today is to fly to a combat zone, pick up three wounded Marines, and fly them back to safety. Can you do it?"

"Yes, sir," Spunkmeyer replied.

"Ferro?"

"Yes, sir," Ferro said.

"You don't sound very confident. You got Spunkmeyer with you. Everything will be fine. Trust me. Alright, good luck, you two." Evison got out of the machine.

"Everything OK?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"Just . . . getting used to you, that's all," Ferro replied.

"Have you done evacs before?"

"Once. We . . . 'lost' one of the wounded."

"Well, we won't lose anyone today. I promise."

Ferro took a deep breath. "Alright. I trust you."

"Good. Don't be so nervous."

"'Don't be so'-Spunkmeyer, are you nuts?"

"Yeah."

Ferro gave him a dirty look. "Don't you dare make me regret this."

Spunkmeyer grinned at her before dropping the ship.

The first phase of the task was relatively smooth and silent, until they started closing in on their destination. "Hey, Ferro? Did the instructions say anything about dealing with hostiles?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"No. Why?" Ferro said, glancing at him.

"We're coming up on something and it ain't friendly."

"'Something' isn't helpful."

"Many somethings. Not sure if it's vehicles or troops or-" Spunkmeyer felt the blood drain from his face when something screamed by the dropship. "It's missiles. OK."

"That's a little bit more helpful, but not by much! Dammit!"

"Hey, we didn't get hit. We'll be fine if we can just-" Spunkmeyer was jerked to his left as Ferro tried to dodge incoming fire. "Or we can just do that. You're lucky we got no one on board yet."

"I was just thinking that." Ferro maintained control of the dropship, and successfully maneuvered them through the surprise anti-aircraft battery field to get to the second phase of their task. "Coming in for a landing."

"Ready. Set her down."

The two looked over their shoulders as several Marines entered the simulator, carrying stretchers with dummies on them. They tied the stretchers down, and immediately left the machine. Spunkmeyer waited until someone gave them the go-ahead, and began the liftoff sequence. "That wasn't so bad," he whispered to Ferro.

"No. That went a lot better than I thought it would," she whispered back.

"Good. You feeling a little more confident now?"

"Honestly, yes. Not by much, but . . . definitely yes."

Spunkmeyer allowed himself a small smile, but he kept quiet on the matter as they made their return trip. Once they safely landed, he waited until they were given permission to unbuckle their straps. "You did good, Ferro."

"I almost panicked when we encountered the AA batteries."

"But you didn't get anything damaged, and no one got hurt. We delivered the wounded without losing one of 'em or getting them more hurt than they already were. You get that?" Spunkmeyer touched Ferro's shoulder. "You know what you did wrong, so don't do it next time. I ain't mad at you, and I certainly ain't telling Larkins." He moved to hug her, but decided against it. Instead, he gave her shoulder a light squeeze.

Ferro found herself staring into Spunkmeyer's eyes. His resisted hug didn't exactly go unnoticed, and she put her arms around his neck, holding him tightly, like she did the previous night. She hung onto him for a few seconds, and then kissed his right cheek.

Spunkmeyer blushed, and looked at Ferro from the corner of his eye. What on Earth could he say to her about that?

At the same time, emotions he had never thought he could feel were emerging from their dark corridors in the deepest part of his heart. Unsure of how to hold them back, he hugged her as well, and kissed her full on the lips. For the next ten seconds, his heart was racing. A feeling of blissful happiness had enveloped him like a blanket, and he didn't want to let it go. He didn't want to let _her_ go.

They both had to let go when someone started banging on the side of the machine. "Time to get out of there, mates!" Evison said.

* * *

_What have I done? _There was a dizzy feeling that lingered with Spunkmeyer throughout the day. He couldn't figure out what it meant at all. He spent several hours sitting alone in his room, trying to understand what happened. _I shouldn't have done that. Everything just came out all at once. _He didn't know what to say or do, but he knew things could get complicated or awkward if he didn't talk to Ferro soon. _Just tell her you didn't mean it. Tell her it wasn't something serious. I wasn't thinking too clearly and my emotions are really stunted. What if that's not what she wants to hear? What if she's got feelings for me? No, I have to be honest. I can't have a relationship with anyone. I'm not ready. I don't know the first thing about love or anything like that. I'm bound to mess up._

Spunkmeyer waited until the girls filed into the hallway after their showers. He heard a lot of laughing and gossip and hoped people weren't talking about him. When he spotted Ferro, he waved. "Hey . . . c-can I talk to you for a minute?"

Ferro nodded, and gestured for Spunkmeyer to follow her into her room. Once the door was shut, she said, "It's about this morning, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I-I just wanted to say . . . that . . . I'm sorry. I . . . shouldn't have kissed you. It was a lot of . . . you know, things I've never felt before, and I don't think . . . they meant anything. D-Does that make sense?"

Ferro was silent for a moment. She thought while placing her laundry in a knit bag to be taken out to a cart at the end of the hallway. "Yeah. It makes sense. So, you're saying that it was just a rush of emotions that you've never felt because you haven't been given the opportunity to explore them naturally like someone your age should."

"Basically."

"And you think it means nothing. You don't want to pursue a serious relationship."

"Not with anyone. At least, not right now. I-I don't feel ready, right now."

Ferro nodded again. "OK."

"J-Just for clarification . . . how come you kissed me first?"

"No reason. Just like you."

Spunkmeyer released his breath. "Well, alright. Glad that's been cleared up."

"Yeah." Ferro glanced at him. "Now what?"

"Now? We . . . stay friends and don't make things awkward ever again."

"Deal. We don't need to be creating emotional difficulties that could be bad for our performance."

"Exactly. I wanna get outta here as badly as you do."

After that night, the kiss and anything related to it was never spoken of again, but that didn't mean it wasn't thought of. Spunkmeyer could feel his emotions deep within his chest. He knew he had feelings for Ferro. _Should I tell her? She's not interested, though. It wouldn't be right to put that burden on her._ So Spunkmeyer kept his thoughts to himself. _Maybe I can find someone else, someone who makes me just as happy as Ferro does._

* * *

The next two months that passed were uneventful, save for the challenging tests, and Spunkmeyer getting to fly an actual dropship. His final assessments were fast approaching, and he was struggling to contain his excitement.

When there was a week to go until he and Ferro were sent on their last practice flight, Spunkmeyer received an unexpected visitor. Breaking through the morning fog that covered the base, Captain Jesse walked briskly into the main hangar, a thick envelope tucked under his arm. He looked breathless as he approached Evison. "I need to see Private Spunkmeyer. It's urgent."

Spunkmeyer was taken to a secluded room, confused and a little frightened. Had someone found out his real age? Was he getting kicked out and sent back to Kendriss? He'd rather spend a year in the brig than the next two years with her-

"I've got some . . . some news for you," Jesse started.

"About what?" Spunkmeyer was staring at him, hazel eyes wide.

"Your biological father."

Now Spunkmeyer wasn't sure how to feel. Everything in his chest was tightening all at once. "G-Good or bad?"

"It . . . depends." Jesse opened the envelope. "Over the last several months, I've been in contact with a civilian geneticist, and I was able to send them a very small sample of your blood that was taken when you first arrived at basic. They found a very close match with a Wesley Spunkmeyer. Unfortunately, the only picture we could find is this, from his high school yearbook." Jesse handed Spunkmeyer a photograph of a yearbook page. "The resemblance is . . . uncanny."

Every emotion swelled and burst inside Spunkmeyer's chest. The image of the man was identical to himself, save for a thinner face and darker eyes. "Oh my God, it is." He took a breath, resisting the urge to sob.

Jesse pulled another set of papers from the envelope. "I did try to contact him, but it turns out he's been dead for about fifteen years." He slid a series of newspaper articles in front of Spunkmeyer. "He was planning on fighting a case to gain custody of you. Your biological mother was, I guess, determined to not let that happen."

Spunkmeyer felt like he was going to throw up. "She murdered him?"

"One hundred percent guilty."

"Why? Why the hell couldn't she just divorce him and-"

"It'd be a stain on her if people knew what she did. Who would sympathize with someone who abandoned a newborn in a hospital? It was easier to lie to everyone and say you died at birth. If everyone she knew found out what really happened, it'd be a personal disaster for her. Your father threatened to tell them the truth. He had to be disposed of, and he couldn't be bribed to keep quiet."

"Couldn't be bribed . . . That means he had honor of some kind, right?"

"I didn't know him personally, so, I'm not sure. I would assume so, based on the testimonies given by friends and family, and what was said about him in his obituary." Jesse looked Spunkmeyer in the eye. "I'm sorry you'll never meet him. I don't think this is what you want in terms of closure, but I had a feeling that if you didn't find out sooner, you were going to spend your life looking for someone who'd died long before you ever knew the truth. Maybe now, you can let go, and accept, and try to move forward."

Spunkmeyer looked down at his lap. Why was he upset despite never knowing this person? He felt like someone had slowly driven a hot knife in the center of his heart. "I have thought about . . . the day I'd finally get to meet my father. Now, it's . . . it's never gonna happen. H-How come I'm . . . I'm sad, even though I never really had an emotional bond with him?"

"He loved you, and he left you that baseball cap to show it. You did have an emotional bond. A somewhat weak emotional bond, but it was still there. You were certain there was someone out there who would love you. You were right, but he was gone before you even found out you were adopted." Jesse glanced at his watch. "I have to get going. Would you like me to leave the documents with you?"

Spunkmeyer nodded. "Thank you, sir. I-I feel better, but I also . . . don't."

"That's understandable. Hey, you've got a little bit of time before you get started on your journey in the Marines. You've got so much ahead of you, and I think your father would've wanted to see you move on and be happy in your career."

* * *

Jesse's words were undoubtedly helpful, but Spunkmeyer still felt like another piece of his heart was being ripped out. He had no appetite, and when he didn't show up for lunch, Evison went looking for him.

"Spunkmeyer, you need to go down to the chow hall, mate. No exceptions unless you got a medical . . . what happened?" Evison frowned upon seeing Spunkmeyer's tear-streaked face.

After five minutes of silence and attempting to collect his thoughts, Spunkmeyer explained to Evison why Jesse had come to the base. He explained what he found out about his father, nearly every last detail. "Just like Ferro said to me, just like that earlier attempt to trace my dad using the cap . . . I got so close, and yet I didn't get close at all. I'll never get close. He's . . . He's gone."

For a few seconds, Evison watched Spunkmeyer cry. Without a word, he gently pulled Spunkmeyer into a hug. "I'm so sorry, mate."

At this point, Spunkmeyer didn't care that the two of them could get in trouble if they were caught. He held onto Evison tightly, allowing his tears to soak Evison's shirt.

"I guess the best thing for me to say to you is not to let this drag you down. You've gotten so far here. You really are close to living your own independent life, and you're _going_ to live your own independent life. You don't have to worry about the past anymore. Make your own story." Evison looked down at Spunkmeyer. "You've gone from a nervous, wide-eyed recruit to an intelligent and skillful young Marine. I've seen you interacting with some of the others here. You wouldn't have done that your first day here. I've watched you grow, in only a span of seven months. That's something to be proud of. I know I'm glad I was a part of your training."

When they let go, Evison patted Spunkmeyer's head, smiling at him. "I'm wishing you the best of luck on your upcoming assessments, mate. Don't dwell on this. I mean, not to sound . . . insensitive, but, there's no point to you letting this bring your life crashing down around you. It may not feel like the closure you wanted, but it's what you got. Life isn't always fair. Take it as a sign; your past is behind you, and it's never coming back to haunt you, or bite you in the ass. Move forward. Don't let the little things bug you. Don't hold grudges for too long. Be good to your friends. When your enemies apologize, accept it. Letting things fester inside of you won't do you any good. Letting go of them _will_ do you a lot of good. Remember that, mate."

* * *

_Question: In your opinion, does Ferro harbor deeper feelings for Spunkmeyer?_


	8. Chapter 8

Ferro was adjusting her flight suit in the hangar near the dropship she'd be flying for her final assessment. She'd be flying with Evison in the co-pilot's seat, so he could see if she really was ready to be sent to her first unit. From the corner of her eye, she saw Spunkmeyer walking up to her.

"Excited?" he asked.

"Nervous," Ferro replied. "You?"

"Nah-well, a little, but, everyone is." Spunkmeyer grinned, then looked outside at the cloudless blue sky. "Nice day. Hopefully, that'll work in your favor."

"Evison told me it's a good sign when the sun is out on your final assessment day. That, and he mentioned I should be graduating as a corporal." Ferro smiled back, and then took a breath. "Thanks for helping me, Spunkmeyer. I can't express how much I appreciate all you've done."

"No problem. Thanks for making me feel like I matter to somebody."

Ferro gave him a quick hug, then turned to jog to the dropship.

Spunkmeyer turned to leave as well, but then paused, and turned back. "Hey, Ferro!"

"What?"

Spunkmeyer gave her a thumbs up. "I believe in you. Remember that, OK?" He winked, and walked out of the hangar.

* * *

Like boot camp, there wasn't a lot of fanfare when it came to graduation. Spunkmeyer knew he wasn't going to experience something like high school or college graduation, but here he was, moving on to the next phase of his life while everyone else his age was still in school.

He wondered if his father was watching him, if he had been there all along for the last fifteen years. He wondered if his father was proud.

Although the only image he had was from a yearbook, Spunkmeyer tried to picture the man standing across from the group of Marine pilots. Tears began rolling down his face, and he struggled to maintain a stoic expression for the ceremony. Next to him, Ferro gently took his hand, squeezed it, then let go.

After the ceremony, Evison began taking Marines into his office and giving them their new unit assignments. It was almost an hour when he finally got to Spunkmeyer and Ferro. "Well, the good news is that I sent your information out last night and got a response this morning. You two will be headed to Tampa, Florida. Make sure you look for a Sergeant Apone, or Corporal Henley."

"Thanks, sir," Ferro said.

"The plan is I'm going to drive you to a hotel this afternoon. There's a bus that'll take people to the airport at around seven AM, so you two will have to be up and at 'em long before then. I'll start printing up all your necessary documents. Make sure all your personal belongings, medical documents, and identification are with you. I will be checking everything to make sure you don't leave anything behind. Go get packing, mates."

Spunkmeyer didn't hesitate to pull his folded duffel bag out from one of the drawers in the bed. At least there was less to pack compared to boot camp, and he could fold everything without someone yelling in his ear. Most of his more personal belongings consisted of the information Captain Jesse left about his father, a few books he picked up from stores in Denver, and some gifts from Ferro, including one of his uniform caps, which she scrawled "Grunt Runt" on. It was a little joke about how he was always going to be the youngest person in any given room of Marines. He just hoped other people would assume it meant he was small.

"How's it coming, mate?" Evison peered in Spunkmeyer's room. "All set?"

"Yeah. I put all my documents in this big manila folder here." Spunkmeyer gestured to his bed. "I don't have to take the sheets and stuff, do I?"

"No. Not unless you bought them." Evison opened the drawers. "Clean . . . clean . . . looking good. Everything is in that one duffel bag?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'm gonna go check on Ferro, and then we're off."

Spunkmeyer suddenly felt a dull pang in his heart. _I just realized I might not see Evison ever again. _He knew he was going to have to let go, emotionally, despite the fact that he had become attached to Evison over the course of the last seven months. He really had become the closest thing Spunkmeyer would ever have to a father, and it was going to hurt not seeing him for a long time. _I'm an adult now. I need to move on._ He could function, even though he had been deprived of so many things a kid his age should already have, familial love being one of them.

As they were driven to the hotel, Evison glanced at them in the rear-view mirror. "One last thing, mates; Larkins told me to tell the both of you that she's proud of you."

Spunkmeyer gave Ferro a baffled look.

"She's tough, but she knows a good Marine when she sees one. You graduated, mates, you've earned her respect. If you run into her while you're on leave or something, don't hesitate to say 'hello;' she won't rip your head off. I mean, she might if you ignore her, or forget that she's an officer."

"So, have you been making things work with her?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"Not exactly. It's a learning experience for anyone: sometimes, your co-workers don't want to change, and they don't want you making them change. It creates a less hostile work environment if you just leave each other alone and do your job. Plus, I'm not requesting a transfer. We balance each other out, and I don't want to see someone similar to Larkins step into my place." Evison pulled into a lot designated for military members, and helped Spunkmeyer and Ferro out with their bags. "The gentleman at the front desk will direct you to a room where you have to sign in, so you'll be woken up at the right time."

While Evison confirmed their reservations, Spunkmeyer was looking around at the massive lobby. Civilians and soldiers alike were bustling about, similar to when he checked in to be shipped out to boot camp. The only difference was that he was excited, rather than nervous. He felt freer.

"Go on up to the fourth floor, room three-eight-zero," Evison said. "I wish you the best. Don't hesitate to write me or call me."

Ferro started walking toward the elevator, and Spunkmeyer hung back for a moment. He looked at Evison, unsure of what to say.

Sighing, Evison said, "Alright. Come 'ere, you." He was grabbed in a hug. "Listen, the vast majority of squad sergeants won't allow this. Just keep that in mind. I'll write to you, OK? No tears, mate. And hey-" Evison leaned in to whisper, "I think you and Ferro are going to have a very long adventure together. Maybe, just a maybe, you might become a bit more than friends." He winked, and let go of Spunkmeyer. "Go on. I can't stay here all night."

Spunkmeyer turned to follow Ferro into the elevator. When the doors closed in front of him, he sighed.

Ferro squeezed his shoulder. "Everything'll be OK. You'll see him again. Think about it; we're going to Florida. It's going to be warm and sunny and vibrant."

"New York is vibrant."

Ferro grinned. "You'll have to take me someday."

"I will. I most certainly will. I'll take you to all the little spots I used to hang out around. There's a diner on the East River that serves the best pizza outside of a pizzeria. They've got Reuben sandwiches and fried chicken sandwiches and a spectacular ice cream bar. It's got the best view of the river, and if you go at the right time, you see all of Brooklyn light up and the sunset is absolutely beautiful. They've got live music on Thursday nights, and the staff are real friendly, and they just love to brag about how many people have fallen in love at this place. I would've taken a job there if the Marines didn't work out for me."

"Sounds fun."

"Listen, I'm a local. I know there's a lot more than the tourist stuff, but, hey, if you wanna go to the Statue of Liberty or Broadway or something like that, I'll gladly show you the way. Don't hesitate to ask. Also, don't forget to return the favor and take me to Michigan someday."

"I think I will."

They stepped out of the elevator, almost immediately running into a long line of Marines also waiting to be signed in. Many were recruits, while others were going to be shipped to new units. Spunkmeyer glanced around, trying not to feel intimidated. _They have no idea I'm only sixteen-well, I'll be seventeen next month, but still. They don't know. You have no reason to be nervous, Danny._

After getting their room keys, the two decided it would be best to sit in silence for a few minutes once they dropped their bags on the floor. Spunkmeyer let out a sigh. "We are so close. We actually are close."

"Yeah." Ferro sighed as well. "Tomorrow at this time, we'll be meeting our new unit."

"I just hope they don't look at us funny."

"We're their pilots now. We'll get respect."

"Yeah, you're right." Spunkmeyer stared out the window, letting his thoughts wander. He switched his gaze to Ferro, and his mind suddenly turned to their first day training together, to that kiss they shared in the simulator. A small part of him wanted to experience that again, and he wondered if Ferro was thinking the same thing.

Her mind could be anywhere. Spunkmeyer took a breath, and got up to sit next to Ferro on her bed.

"Hi," Ferro said.

"Hi. When . . . W-When did you wanna go downstairs for dinner?"

"It's only four. We can stay here for another hour or so. Are you hungry?"

"A little, I guess. Plus, it'll probably be crowded, in an hour, downstairs. I know we can't leave the complex. Anyways . . . I dunno."

"Is something bugging you?"

"No. No, not at all."

"You're trembling, though. Are you getting sick?"

"No." Spunkmeyer swallowed past a lump in his throat. "OK, I-I'm thinking about . . . you know, how . . . when we were in the simulator, and afterwards . . . we had that moment and we . . . we kissed. I'm sorry. I know we kinda agreed not to talk about that again, but-"

Ferro shut him up by kissing him on the lips. Spunkmeyer let his muscles go slack, and he hugged Ferro tightly, keeping the kiss going. They then pulled apart.

"Listen, you need to do a better job shutting those feeling out. We can't have that kind of relationship on the job. It just won't work. I'm sorry. That won't change the fact that we're friends." Ferro rubbed Spunkmeyer's shoulders. "I think we'll eventually get so used to each other that those feelings will go away."

"Yeah." Spunkmeyer nodded. "I'll believe that." In truth, he wasn't sure. _I really like you. Maybe your thoughts will change. I just have to be patient._

* * *

They were awoken at an ungodly hour by an alarm on the telephone blaring loudly. Spunkmeyer jolted upright, and scrambled to shut the alarm off. Once it was off, he rubbed his face, trying to comprehend where he was and what he was doing. He glanced around frantically, wondering if the last nine months of his life had been a dream. He was going to boot camp. He was nowhere close to freedom. He was never going to get that freedom.

"Spunkmeyer. Spunkmeyer! What happened?" Ferro was shaking him. "You had a bad dream. Come on, we need to get up and head downstairs."

"We're going to Tampa, right?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"Yes." Ferro grabbed a set of clothes from her bag. "I'll talk to you during breakfast."

It took less than ten minutes for the two to be dressed and riding an elevator down to the cafeteria. Spunkmeyer was still struggling to pull himself out of his nightmare. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, and he felt like he was going to burst into tears.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Spunkmeyer, what's wrong?" Ferro asked when they sat down.

"Just . . . got afraid that I wasn't going to Tampa, and was instead going to Virginia, to boot camp. Again. You know, I'm . . . I got really far, and I didn't. I'm nowhere close to where I wanna be."

"Hey, it was just a bad dream. We're going to Florida, not Virginia, I promise. Look-" Ferro held up their itineraries, "'Denver, Colorado, to Tampa, Florida.' Relax. Enjoy your breakfast." She smiled at him.

Within the next hour, they were headed to the airport. It was a relatively short drive, but Spunkmeyer could understand why Evison wouldn't want to transport them himself. It was dark, a little chilly, and no one wanted to be up at this hour.

Spunkmeyer relaxed once they were in the airport, and waiting for their flight. He definitely felt better once he got some good coffee, and was chatting with Ferro about his experience with some of the more touristy spots in New York when he was younger. The sun was coming up by the time they had to board their flight, and Spunkmeyer looked over his shoulder, as a tiny part of him wondered if Evison had come to see them off. _He basically did that last night. He's not wasting his time by doing it again._

On the plane, Spunkmeyer gazed at the mountains receding away as they flew east. Eventually, he saw nothing but clouds and ice dotting the window. The ice almost immediately disappeared when they began to fly low over the Gulf of Mexico. Spunkmeyer breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the turquoise water below. He knew he had made it. Never again would he have to be set back.

Neither their sergeant or corporal were at the airport to pick them up. Another bus would be taking them to the base. Along the way, the bus stopped to pick up a single Marine waiting on a street lined with small shops. In his hand was a rather large ice cream cone. He seemed pleased with himself as he sat across from Ferro and Spunkmeyer.

"You two're a little early, man," the Marine said. "You're the new dropship pilots Apone ordered, right?"

"Yeah. Are you in his unit?" Ferro asked.

"Sure am." The Marine stuck out his hand. "Private Will Hudson, man. You are . . . ?"

"Ferro, and this is Spunkmeyer."

"Both fresh outta training?"

"Graduated yesterday."

"So, you're greener than the asscrack of a spring apple, man. The guys're gonna poke some fun at you for sure." Hudson smirked, and returned his focus to his ice cream. "Don't worry too much, though. We're all good guys. Well, I can be a little rough, and fling insults the way a monkey flings his shit, but I'll always have your back. Oh, and Wierzbowski doesn't talk much unless you talk to him first. He's the only quiet one. Aside from one of our smartgunners."

Spunkmeyer anticipated that this unit was going to be full of guys who were bigger, stronger, and a lot older than him. Despite looking like a lovable goofball, Hudson was a little intimidating to him; he could probably beat Spunkmeyer to a pulp and not break a sweat.

Hudson walked them into the base, taking them right to a pair of men who each made Spunkmeyer nervous in their own way. Sergeant Apone greatly reminded him of his drill instructors in boot camp, and Corporal Henley resembled a very unfriendly officer-the opposite of Evison.

"Hudson, wipe your mouth, son," Henley said, gesturing to the splotches of ice cream on Hudson's face.

"Sorry, man. Hey, I brought the new dropship pilots-well, we were on the bus together on the way here." Hudson patted Spunkmeyer and Ferro's shoulders. "I'll be in the lounge if you two wanna come meet everybody.

When Hudson left, Apone was shaking his head. "You know, if I knew you were gonna show up, I wouldn't have let him out. He wasn't too nutty out there, was he?"

"No, not at all," Ferro replied. "He seems friendly."

"Give it a few days. He thinks he's funny most of the time. He's not bad, though. Alright, go grab yourselves a room, settle in, meet everyone. Don't stress yourselves out. We'll deal with any concerns you might have. Welcome aboard."

Spunkmeyer didn't say a word as he trailed Ferro down the hallway. Each room was twice as large as the rooms back at training, with two beds instead of one. The only room with an open spot had a bed that was already taken, and Spunkmeyer noticed the foot locker had Hudson's name taped on it. There was a strong smell of cheap deodorant, as well as something funky that had gotten stale. At least it wasn't bad enough to drive Spunkmeyer out, and he didn't want to make a bad impression by telling someone he didn't want to room with a slob.

As he transferred his belongings from the duffel bag to his foot locket, Spunkmeyer glanced over his shoulder when he heard someone walking into the room.

"Aw, nice, you're gonna be my new roommate, man," Hudson said, kneeling in front of his locker.

Spunkmeyer didn't reply. All he had left in his bag were his most personal items-namely, the documents on his father, and his father's baseball cap. He didn't feel like unveiling those in front of Hudson. He also noticed the inside of Hudson's locker was covered in pictures of pin-up girls, save for one worn photo of a city skyline.

"Everything OK?"

Spunkmeyer froze when he realized Hudson was standing over him. All he could do was swallow past a lump in his throat, staring up in fear.

"Why do you look like I'm gonna hurt you or something?" Hudson scratched his head. "Wasn't something I said on the bus, was it?"

Spunkmeyer shook his head.

"Well, what's wrong, man? You haven't said a word to anybody."

"Please leave me alone."

"Oh." Hudson frowned, and backed away. "OK. Sorry, man. I'll leave."

_It's just culture shock, mate._ Spunkmeyer had Evison's voice in his head. This really was like his arrival in Denver, but this time, he knew the atmosphere was going to be different. He shouldn't be this nervous.

He also felt bad for pushing Hudson away. _The chaplain told me making friends is the best way to deal with the empty feelings in my heart. I just shoved off a chance for part of that emptiness to be dealt with. _A choking sensation started up in his throat, and he gripped the brim of his father's cap tightly as tears began rolling down his face.

"Knew that's what I went in there for. I'll be right back out, man." Hudson re-entered the room, muttering something about forgetting his own cap. He looked at Spunkmeyer, noticing the kid was crying. "Aw, Jesus, I made him cry."

"Made who cry?" someone out in the hall asked. A man with short, light-brown hair peered in.

"One of the new pilots. Look, just tell everyone I'll be outside in a couple minutes, Drevis." Hudson knelt by Spunkmeyer. "Hey, I really am sorry 'bout being pushy, man. There's no reason to cry."

Spunkmeyer sobbed. "It's not your fault! I got scared, and I shouldn't be, because then I push people away and I shouldn't do that because I don't wanna deal with being lonely anymore!"

He found himself being enveloped in a hug. "You don't have to worry 'bout that here, man," Hudson said, patting Spunkmeyer's back. "We're all brothers and sisters here. If you need something, somebody'll be there for you."

_That's all I want. No, I need this. I need a family. I need and want that more than anything. _Spunkmeyer hugged Hudson back, tightly.

"Refresh my memory, man, what's your name again?"

"It's Spunkmeyer."

"OK. Spunkmeyer. I was heading outside to play ball with the other guys. You can join us, if you want."

Spunkmeyer didn't hesitate to follow Hudson out to the recreational yard. _I'm good at this. This'll let me prove my worth to everyone. _He looked around at the other Marines, and realized Hudson wasn't the most intimidating guy in the unit; standing by the mound with Drevis was a very tall and well-built man with short, dark hair and dark-blue eyes. Forget Hudson beating Spunkmeyer to a pulp-this guy looked like he could straight-up snap someone in half.

"Hey, 'Ski!" Hudson called. "We got one more person for our team, man!"

Wierzbowski gave Hudson a thumbs-up, and Spunkmeyer looked at Hudson. "I've seen some tough guys in New York, but no one who looked like that."

"'Ski's from England, man," Hudson replied. "He can hold his own in a fight, but he's really gentle. You'll like him." He glanced around the field. "Think you can cover second base and the infield, man?"

Spunkmeyer nodded. "I've played before."

"Good. Maybe you can teach us a thing or two." Hudson smirked before tossing a beat-up glove to Spunkmeyer.

* * *

_Question: Should Spunkmeyer trust Hudson with his real age?_


	9. Chapter 9

Spunkmeyer treated his new comrades like his old friends back in New York, despite not knowing them very well. This little game of unorganized baseball brought back memories. He missed the long summer days in the park behind the middle school.

He knew he had sacrificed that when he enlisted. It felt good to be playing again, even though it was with a different crew.

Standing on the pitcher's mound, Spunkmeyer wound up to throw the ball toward Wierzbowski, who was crouched behind one of their smartgunners, a tall, stocky man called Marrin. Spunkmeyer turned to his right to spit for good luck, and heard Hudson laugh.

"Nice, man," Hudson said.

"What?" Spunkmeyer glanced at him.

"That's the most impressive spit I ever seen, man." Hudson snorted in the back of his throat, and then hocked a loogie on the ground. "Gotta get all the goodness in there."

"Hudson, that's disgusting," Drevis said. "Throw the ball, Spunkmeyer."

In several ways, the rest of the unit was how Spunkmeyer thought they were going to be: crude, rude, and extremely loyal. He'd learned a ton of swear words from his drill instructors in boot camp, and even more from Larkins, and some particularly good ones from Hudson and his gang. With the new recruits, you still acted like you were a civilian; you were generally polite and treated your friends with respect. With these guys, greeting each other with a hard slap to the shoulder and a rough bear-hug was normal. You called each other names and it was no big deal. You made fun of each other and it was no big deal; hell, it was a sign you knew your friend best, because you could point out all their flaws from a mile away.

Spunkmeyer still felt like he had been left at a party full of strange adults. Even with his stubble and copious amount of hair on his chest, he was certain the rest of the unit would pick up that he was much younger than he said he was. _Maybe if you stopped being so anxious about it, you wouldn't give off this fucking aura that something's not right with you._

Like training, there were no private bathrooms. Spunkmeyer followed Hudson into the shower room after evening chow, and expected to drop his stuff on a bench. Instead, Hudson showed him that they got their own lockers to minimize losing stuff.

"Just pick an empty one, tape your name on it, and it's yours till we get stationed somewhere else, man," Hudson explained.

_I can definitely get used to this._ Spunkmeyer was silent, listening to the conversations between everyone else in the shower. He panicked when he realized he was taking a lot of time to put his hygiene supplies in the locker, and was certain Apone or Henley were going to show up and tell them they had thirty seconds to finish up.

Slamming shut the locker, Spunkmeyer turned to go into the shower room, only to notice he hadn't undressed yet. Oblivious to the puddle of water on the floor, he whirled back around, and slipped.

"Everything OK?" Wierzbowski called.

Frozen, Spunkmeyer couldn't answer.

Hudson peered out of his stall. "He fell, man. Hey, you OK, Spunkmeyer?"

Attempting to sit up, Spunkmeyer felt a jolt of pain run down his right leg. Nothing was broken, but he flushed red with embarrassment when he came to the conclusion that it was just a bruise on his rear end. "I'm OK," he said. "How much time do we have left?"

"For what? Showering?" Hudson laughed. "We can stay in here till lights-out, man. I mean, nobody wants to, because these get cold pretty fast, so, hurry up and get in here."

Lights-out was nine o'clock, just like in training. Spunkmeyer missed having a room all to himself, and he was hoping Hudson was tired enough to just go to sleep. He covered his face with the blanket when Hudson walked in, and then turned to face the wall, not wanting to be engaged in conversation.

Hudson threw off his boots and adjusted his socks before getting in bed. "'Night, Spunkmeyer." He paused, waiting for Spunkmeyer to respond. "Must be sleeping," he muttered. He settled in with a contented sigh, laying his hands on his belly, and drifted off. A few minutes later, he began snoring.

Spunkmeyer let out an irritated groan, and put his pillow over his head. He could deal with a slob, but not a snorer. He prayed Hudson would turn his body and get his head in a better position so he'd snore less, but that wasn't going to happen for several hours.

At some point, Spunkmeyer managed to get to sleep. He awoke to hear Hudson's snoring had gotten a little quieter, but a foul odor had filled the room. Coughing, Spunkmeyer covered his nose and mouth with the blanket. _He snores, and he just let one rip. Good God, I didn't think the stew was that bad!_

In the morning, Spunkmeyer could definitely feel his lack of sleep. Having woken up a few times, he was undoubtedly cranky, and tired. He hoped there was good coffee here.

Unfortunately, there wasn't. There was no sweetener, or creamer, and it was watery. Spunkmeyer cursed under his breath as he set the cup of bitter water down, and he snapped when Hudson sat across from him.

"Did you sleep OK last night, man?" Hudson asked.

"No, smartass, I did not. You are, honest to God, the most disgusting human being I've ever met."

Hudson frowned. "What'd I do, man?"

"What'd you do?! I'll tell you what you did! Your whole area smells like stale body odor, you snore louder than a Goddamn freight train, and you fucking passed gas sometime during the night. That was the most foul thing I've ever had the pleasure of smelling in my entire life!"

"Gonna have to get used to it," Drevis said without looking up from his tray. "Hudson is gross sometimes."

"I know that," Hudson said, "but I've been nothing but nice to the kid since he got here. That really hurt, man."

"Well, he did just get here, so, I wouldn't be too upset with him." Drevis looked at Spunkmeyer. "Hey, relax, alright? We're all on the same team here. We don't need anybody fighting for stupid reasons."

"Yeah., man," Hudson added.

"You really should put your damn dirty PT clothes in the fucking laundry."

"I do, man."

"Apparently, you forgot some. And go get some over-the-counter stuff so you don't kill Spunkmeyer with your methane, dude."

"The stew didn't agree with me last night, man. Happens to all of us."

His anger fading, Spunkmeyer suddenly felt bad for how he treated Hudson. _I may not have said anything too bad, but I shouldn't be bitching about him if I don't want to be lonely around here. _"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Hudson asked.

"'For what?' I-I just insulted you to your face-"

"We all do that, man. It's fine. Don't worry 'bout it."

"So, you're not . . . mad . . . ?"

"No. Why should I be mad? Not gonna do anything." The look in Hudson's eyes changed, his gray gaze now boring into Spunkmeyer. "You sure everything's OK? You've been jumpy and . . . I dunno, just _grrr_ towards everyone. I've never seen anyone else like this since I came here, man."

"Everything's OK. I didn't sleep well last night." That definitely wasn't the full story. Not even close.

* * *

Tired of trying to get along with everyone, Spunkmeyer found peace and quiet in the cockpit of one of the cargo planes in the base hangar. He sat with his boots on the console, and dozed a little, his cap over his eyes. The sound of someone walking into the cockpit jolted him up, and he turned to see Ferro sitting in the pilot's chair.

"Just me," she whispered. "I figured you were around here somewhere." She was quiet, and then glanced at him. "Why've you been so awkward to everyone? People are trying to be nice to you and you're . . . pushing them away."

"I dunno," Spunkmeyer sighed. "Just . . . I'm starting to not feel ready for this. I'm a sixteen-year-old surrounded by guys in their early twenties, and I don't know how to behave. This is so much less rigid than boot camp and flight training. I . . . I don't know what to do."

"Maybe if you actually talk to them, they'll understand how you feel. You don't have to tell them that you're underage, but I think they'll get the awkwardness of being in a new place." Ferro reached over to squeeze Spunkmeyer's shoulder.

"You don't think I've made a bad first impression?"

"No. Hudson still wants you around. He was asking where you were, actually."

"Why?"

"I dunno. I guess he wants to talk to you about something. You seem like you want to be alone, though."

"I do. I'm sorry."

"It's OK. If you need to be alone, be alone."

"Yeah. You can stay with me, though."

"Well, thanks." Ferro looked out the windshield at the dim hangar, appreciating the silence.

It was nice for everything to just slow down for a few minutes, but after letting their thoughts reorganize themselves, the two found they were thinking about each other. Spunkmeyer glanced over at Ferro, noticing she was staring at him. He knew he had to do away with any intimate feelings he had, so he broke eye contact.

It was difficult to make eye contact with her. Spunkmeyer found it easy to avoid eye contact altogether.

* * *

The act of killing his romantic feelings for Ferro didn't make it easy for Spunkmeyer to try and improve his fledgling bond with Hudson. It was a very slow, difficult, and painful process. He had never been the one to tear a piece of his heart out, and found it similar to taking off a bandage; another person could just yank it off, but he was so nervous that he did it slowly, even though he knew that would hurt more.

Hudson had decided the best way to fix things with Spunkmeyer was to take him out of the base. They rode a bus out to the bay, where they strolled down a boardwalk. "It's just the two of us, man," Hudson said. "We can talk about anything you want."

Spunkmeyer gazed out at the glittering blue water, unsure of what to start with in terms of conversation. He looked at Hudson from the corner of his eye. "You won't repeat anything to anyone?"

"No. Is that what you're worried about?" Hudson smirked. "You got some juicy secrets?"

Spunkmeyer glared at him. "Just . . . secrets. Not every secret has to be something perverted-"

"Hey, relax, man. I'm just messing with you. It's OK." When they came across a small diner, Hudson sat at a table next to the boardwalk railing. "Alright, whatcha got for me, man?"

_What do I start with? I don't feel ready to talk about anything yet with you. I really should, though. It's the only way I'm going to avoid being lonely. _"Well . . . I'm . . ." Spunkmeyer rubbed his face, and shivered.

"You're clearly not good at talking to people, man."

Spunkmeyer felt like he would cry, and he covered his face.

"I'm not saying that to be mean or anything. It's just something I'm observing. I get it."

Spunkmeyer lowered his hands. "Really?"

"Yeah. Well, not in the sense you're thinking of. I've never had a problem talking to people, but I do have a problem when talking to shy people." Hudson shrugged. "I gotta keep telling myself to just back off, man. They'll come to me eventually." He looked down at his menu, and glanced up when he heard Spunkmeyer's stomach growling. "If you want something, just say so, man. I'm taking care of the bill."

"I can't do that to you."

"Oh? Well, do you have any money?"

"N-No . . . I haven't had a chance to go to a bank."

"Exactly. I'm not letting you go hungry, man. Don't need you fainting on the boardwalk." Hudson snorted. "Happened to me once."

Spunkmeyer nodded. _I believe it._

When someone came around to take their drink orders, Spunkmeyer was a little surprised when Hudson ordered a glass of iced coffee. _He seems like the type who sits and drinks beer all day long. _"No alcohol for you?"

"Dude, I'm only twenty." Hudson grinned. "I turn twenty-one next month, though. Besides, you're not drinking, either."

"Well, I turn se-nineteen in a few weeks. I kinda thought . . . you were older than twenty-one."

Hudson laughed. "You know, I'm at that age where I'm not sure if that's still supposed to be a compliment, or if it means I look old."

"My instructor at flight school told me that thirty is where you start hoping people think you're younger than you really are."

Hudson nodded. "Thirty. Got it." He took a sip of his drink. "I gotta ask, man, are you from New York?"

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Because _yous were tawkin' like this _when you flipped your shit on me this morning."

Spunkmeyer smirked. "That's what tipped you off, huh? Not the Yankees hat in my trunk?"

"That's what you were holding yesterday? No, man, I didn't see what kinda hat it was."

"Ah."

"Anyway, I'd think that . . . you being from the city and all would make you a little more adept at conversation. I mean, you saw a lot of people every single day, right?"

"I _saw_ a lot of people every single day, but that doesn't mean I _talked_ to a lot of people every day. My social skills are . . . I guess 'stunted' is the right word."

Hudson's smile quickly faded. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I was adopted by someone who . . . didn't realize kids are a major responsibility. She didn't do anything for me that most other parents would do for their children. I never went to a daycare. I was never really exposed to other children until I was . . . five. I didn't really figure out how to make friends or talk to people until later on. I mean, I figured it out eventually, but . . . like a lot of things, I had to learn on my own. I was left alone for most of the day while she worked. All I was left with were basic rules on what I could and couldn't touch. The rest was up to me."

"So, your own parents didn't want you, and this person that took you in didn't want you either? That's really messed up, man. Hell, you're lucky to be alive, for crying out loud."

_Luck, or fate. Whichever you choose to believe._ Spunkmeyer nodded. "My dad wanted me, though. He was murdered before he could do anything about it. He left me his cap in the hospital, and that's pretty much the only thing of his I'll ever have or get to see."

"How come your mother didn't want you?"

"I don't know, but she just abandoned me in a bassinet and then realized that she was going to be looked down upon for the rest of her life because my father threatened to fight a custody case and tell everyone what happened. So she killed him."

"Jesus," Hudson whispered, "that's so fucked up, man. You were really alone your whole life, huh."

"In a way, yeah. I got used to it, though. I felt . . . very empty, but I accepted it."

"So, you weren't just nervous when I found you crying about loneliness yesterday. You were really scared to death you weren't . . . ever gonna have people that love you in your life."

Again, Spunkmeyer nodded.

"And, you had no siblings at all?"

"None."

"Well, the rest of your unit's gonna be your family. No doubt about it." Hudson gave a broad smile. "I'll be happy to be your big brother." As he picked up his sandwich to take a bite, a seagull spotted an opportunity, and promptly snatched the sandwich out of Hudson's hands. "Hey! Give that back, man!" Hudson stood up, leaning over the railing as he swore at the escaping bird.

Spunkmeyer was laughing until his sides hurt.

"Oh, you think that's funny? I'm starving, too, man! Gimme your fries or something."

"No. You can order something else."

* * *

As the day progressed, Spunkmeyer's concerns about his relationship with Ferro gradually faded into the back of his mind. He was glad to have someone else to talk and laugh with. The tearing sensation in his heart was significantly duller than earlier, but it was still there.

That night, Spunkmeyer waited until lights-out to bring it up with Hudson. He lay awake, waiting for Hudson to come back from the bathroom. Once Hudson walked in the door, he said, "Hey, can I talk to you about something?"

"Sure, man," Hudson sighed as he kicked his boots off, and lay in bed to face Spunkmeyer.

"How do you . . . stop having romantic feelings for someone, but don't want to sever the friendship you've already built?"

Hudson was quiet for some time, then regained eye contact with Spunkmeyer. "I wish I had something good for you, man, but that's not something I'm all that experienced with. I've had a lot of . . . not-serious relationships over the years. I ain't the right person to talk to, man."

Spunkmeyer's heart sank, and he turned away to try and get some sleep.

"We can still talk about what's going on. Maybe that'll help some."

"You won't say anything to anyone?"

Hudson made an imaginary "X" over his chest. "Cross my heart, man." He grinned. "Somebody here you got a crush on?"

"Ferro and I have been friends since a few weeks after I started flight training. We trust each other with everything. When we got the chance to fly together, I . . . felt something, and I didn't know what to do about it. Then, she hugged me after our first exercise, and she kissed my cheek. I then kissed her on the lips, and since then, I've been telling myself that we can't have a relationship like that. I stopped having those feelings for awhile, and then when we got to our hotel to wait for our flight, I wanted to experience that . . . the kiss again. We did kiss, but we both said afterward that we can't have that type of relationship on the job."

"Like I said, man, this isn't something I'm good with, but . . . I guess if you try not to think about it and focus on something else, it won't bother you so much." Hudson yawned, and nestled under his blanket. "You can also go out and meet civilians, man. Won't get in trouble for having a relationship with a civvie." He fell silent, but the snoring started a few minutes later.

Spunkmeyer sighed. Of course, that wasn't helpful. How could he try to meet someone else when his feelings for Ferro were still so strong? How would Ferro respond? After all they'd been through, Spunkmeyer was certain that dating somebody else would be a slap in the face to their friendship. They bonded over the fact that they both felt alone; the last thing he wanted to do was make Ferro feel like he'd abandoned her. _But what if she does the same thing to me first?_

* * *

_Question: How would Spunkmeyer respond if he found out Drake and Vasquez were dating? How might that complicate or improve his relationship with Ferro?_

_Author's Note: Hudson is simultaneously the best and worst roommate you could have. And I completely agree, Serene Fairy; Hudson looks like the most huggable out of the group.  
_

_I liked having Hudson and Spunkmeyer bond and get to know each other. Hudson is arguably the better big brother figure, even though his thoughts on love and romance aren't going to change for another four years._


	10. Chapter 10

The end of April brought about Spunkmeyer's seventeenth birthday-which everyone else thought was his nineteenth. He had a year to go before he was an adult, but he wondered if he'd ever be able to truly open up about himself. A part of him felt that wouldn't happen until he left the Marines.

Hudson was already seeming like a worthy candidate to keep more of Spunkmeyer's secrets. He really did try to make Spunkmeyer feel like a member of the family. Hell, he gave more hugs than Spunkmeyer ever received from Kendriss, a lot more.

The feeling of loneliness had lessened significantly, but it was still there. Spunkmeyer was certain that it wouldn't go away, no matter how many friends he made or love he got. It wouldn't go away because he was never going to connect with his father the way a normal person should. Whenever he fell into deep thought about it, the aching in his heart got worse. He'd feel like crying. He felt like a child lost in a strange place, calling for his father.

Spunkmeyer made no attempt to hide his frustration that night. Even after being showered with gifts and nineteen punches to the arm by Drevis and Hudson, he felt alone.

"What's the matter, man?" Hudson asked as he entered the room. He closed the door, and sat on his bed to untie his boots. "You looked like you were having fun earlier."

"I don't know how to explain it," Spunkmeyer replied. "I wish I did, but I don't."

Hudson had learned to pick up on certain cues over the last several weeks. He nodded, and whispered, "It's about your dad, isn't it?"

Spunkmeyer nodded. "You and everyone else have done . . . a lot for me, but . . . I don't think this space in my heart is ever gonna go away. It just hurts at the worst possible time. Like right now."

Hudson untucked his shirt, and set his dogtags on his foot locker. "Guess you haven't really learned how to accept it, huh."

"No, not really."

"Well, unfortunately, I can't help you there, man. I mean, I wish I could. I hate seeing you like this."

Spunkmeyer was quiet for a moment. "Can I tell you something, Hudson?"

"Anything you want, man."

"Can you promise to keep it between us?"

Hudson made another slashing motion across his chest. "Cross my heart."

"I didn't turn nineteen today. I actually turned seventeen."

Hudson's jaw dropped. "Wait, so . . . you . . ." He leaned in to whisper. "You fucking enlisted at sixteen? How? Why?"

"I needed to. Once I really found out that Miss Kendriss didn't care about me, I wanted out."

"Geez, man," Hudson mouthed. "You really are just a kid. I didn't think so looking at your chest hair, man."

Spunkmeyer turned red with embarrassment, but he figured Hudson would say something ridiculous as that. "You won't tell anyone, right?"

"No. Hey, look, a couple of the guys already kinda think you might be younger than you really are. Let them have their fun. I'll enjoy being the one who knows everything." Hudson smiled before getting in bed. "Anything else you wanna talk about?"

Spunkmeyer shook his head. "If I think of something, you won't be pissed if I wake you?"

"Nah." Hudson yawned. "'Night, man."

* * *

A full month passed, and Spunkmeyer didn't regret telling Hudson everything. In that time, he tried to better his relationship with Ferro. Repetition and a lack of expectations were the keys to stop nursing that crush. They still confided in each other and trusted each other, but the feelings of wanting a kiss were beginning to fade.

Hudson's twenty-first birthday rolled around with quite a bit of fanfare. There was going to be drinking, so Spunkmeyer wasn't invited. He could understand that, but he also hated the feeling of being left out. That afternoon was full of mixed emotions, and Spunkmeyer spent most of his time sitting alone in the cockpit of a plane in the hangar, gathering his thoughts and dozing.

He sat up when he heard someone entered the aircraft, expecting Ferro. When he turned his head, he saw Corporal Henley instead. "Sir," Spunkmeyer said.

"Private." Henley leaned against the hatch separating the cockpit from the rest of the plane. "Was wondering where you were until Ferro told me."

"Do you need something?"

"No. You got a letter from Lieutenant Evison." Henley gave Spunkmeyer an envelope. "I also have a serious question for you: are you OK?"

"Yeah . . . why do you ask?"

"Hudson told me that you've been upset about things in your personal life lately. Wanted to know if maybe . . . you needed a bit more help."

"No. I'm fine. I don't need any help." _Why did he say something to Henley? He promised not to say anything! I trusted him! _Spunkmeyer waited until Henley left the plane before covering his face. _I knew this was too good to be true._

The feeling of his trust being shattered was remarkably painful. It tore away a large part of his heart. He knew life wasn't fair, but this was ridiculous. He did something wrong, and he was paying for it.

He planned on giving Hudson a piece of his mind when he got back later that night, but that was quickly shot down when Hudson and the others returned-and Hudson was drunk. The blend of alcohol and vomit made for an unpleasant stench that trailed him when he staggered into his room. "Hey there, Spunk," he slurred. "You missed a great party, man. We'll have to do the same thing when you turn twenty-one, man." He rubbed Spunkmeyer's head. "Why do you look so grumpy, man?" He got in Spunkmeyer's face, and squeezed his cheeks. "D'you miss me?"

"Bite me, jackass. I'm not happy with you," Spunkmeyer growled.

Hudson grinned, and gave Spunkmeyer a wet kiss on the cheek before falling backward, laughing as Spunkmeyer frantically wiped his face with his shirt. "You missed me. You wanted to tag along." He pulled himself into his bed, and patted his stomach. "Something stayed down because I still feel stuffed, man."

"Good for you, you waste of space." Spunkmeyer faced the wall, hoping to just fall into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Spunkmeyer awoke to see Hudson wasn't in the room. Some of his stuff had been neatened up, and there were no clothes on the floor. Despite this improvement, Spunkmeyer was still angry over the fact that Hudson blabbed to Henley about his situation. Snarling, Spunkmeyer opened the drawers on Hudson's nightstand, dumping their contents on the floor.

"What the hell're you doing?"

Spunkmeyer turned to see Hudson standing in the doorway, looking shocked. An emotional bubble was starting to swell in his chest.

"No one said you could touch my stuff, man. First, I wake up with a fucking headache, and now I got you throwing my shit everywhere! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Spunkmeyer looked at the floor, visibly ashamed. He stared at the mess on the floor. "Everything's wrong with me, I guess."

Hudson's eyes were narrowed to gray slits, but his voice was somewhat soft when he spoke. "This is why I said something to Henley. I know you told me not to tell anybody, man, but, I told you, I don't know what to do. You are sad and angry all the time over something you got no control over. That's not good, man."

"Why didn't you ask me before saying something?!" Spunkmeyer shouted.

"Were you gonna let me? Probably not."

"That doesn't matter. You took my trust, and you destroyed it! Every single fucking time something good comes along for me, it gets taken away, and I'm sick of it!"

"Hey, why don't you listen to what someone has to say before you assume that nobody cares about you? Believe me, I get that you're scared and you don't want to go through the rest of your life alone, but you're gonna be alone if you don't let this go. No one wants to be around someone who's sad all the time, and it's not because we don't love you; it's because we don't know how to help you. We've tried everything-_I've_ tried everything to make you feel like you belong here. I don't want to lose hope on you, man. That's why I brought it up with the corporal; he can get you professional help if you need it." Hudson shrugged. "Does it help that I didn't tell him your real age?"

Spunkmeyer nodded.

"Well, good. Alright, now that everything's cleared up, let's go back to being friends-"

"Brothers."

"OK. Let's go back to being brothers, and work a little harder at our communication."

"Deal." Spunkmeyer went for a handshake, but was grabbed in a hug instead. Not wanting to get angry, not wanting to worsen the aches in his heart, he accepted the hug.

* * *

Since he had never been below the twenty-degrees-north latitude line before, Spunkmeyer wasn't at all used to the summer heat in Florida. Even Hudson was laying on his bed, fanning his face with a magazine. "That layer of ice we have as northerners is melting, man."

"Layer of ice, huh," Spunkmeyer said. "Maybe that's why we have more . . . hair all over."

Hudson laughed. "I'll bet it is." He glanced at Spunkmeyer. "I don't think I told you I'm from Minnesota. It's pretty much sub-Arctic up there year-round."

"I can imagine."

"It's not as bad in the city, but I grew up in the middle of nowhere, man."

"How'd you end up in the Marines, then? They actually had recruiters there?"

"When I graduated high school, I moved to the city," Hudson replied. "I wasn't . . . all that happy with myself, so I enlisted. I was alone, and I didn't think I was gonna find what I really wanted if I stayed in the same place."

"And have you found what you wanted yet?"

Hudson shook his head. "Nothing's really stuck with me, man. Do you know what you wanna do?"

Spunkmeyer nodded. "I'd still like to play pro baseball someday."

"That's ambitious, man. Hell, you'd probably need to go to college and play there before the big leagues notice you."

"They're gonna know I didn't graduate high school. I can't do college, period."

"What about your fake diploma?"

"Won't work. They'll look for my high school transcripts, and I don't have any past my sophomore year. I'm screwed. I'll never be able to get into the major league. The most I'll ever be able to do is get a job with a high school team or little league or something like that. I don't want that. I want to play."

"You think that now, but maybe you'll change your mind in a few years. Maybe something will happen where you can't play anymore, like an injury or something." Hudson shrugged. "You are in a line of work where it's very easy to get hurt, man."

"I know, but . . . I had to do something. Kendriss sure as hell wouldn't help me out with college."

"Yeah, you got a point, there. She just sounds like a really cold-hearted bitch."

"Well, she adopted me out of impulse. She delivered me. I guess she felt obliged to take me in, and then realized I wasn't like a doll or something."

"Any idea why she didn't hand you over to a foster home?"

"No clue whatsoever. I just know that she did love me at first, and something . . . something killed it. She hugged me once when I was little, and that was it."

"That probably explains why you really lean into my hugs, man," Hudson snorted. "Hey, it's all over now. You're on your own. You got a job and money and a family."

As the conversation died, Henley peered in the doorway. "Hudson, can you go down to mess and grab some bags of ice? Schmidt's trying to get Drevis's fever down and this heat wave isn't helping. Spunkmeyer, come with me, son."

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"No, no. Apone and I were talking, and we've got a new job for you. We're going to have you trained in using the P-5000 powerloader."

"Can I ask why?"

"You hang around the hangar and loading area quite a bit. Why don't we put you to work there?"

Spunkmeyer shrugged. "I . . . go there to be alone, but, I guess this isn't a bad idea."

"Oh, no, when you're fully qualified to use the powerloader, you can do your work in here _alone_."

A small grin came across Spunkmeyer's face. "I can do that. Am I starting right now?"

"Absolutely." Henley walked Spunkmeyer down to the hangar, where he and Apone began giving Spunkmeyer a rundown on the powerloader. They then let him climb into the monstrous-looking machine to have a feel for it.

"Comfy?" Apone asked.

"Better than the fucking bunk I had in boot camp, that's for sure," Spunkmeyer replied.

Apone grinned. "You wanna give it a spin?"

"Is that allowed?"

"You can't move fast in these things if you tried. You'll be fine if you know where all the buttons are."

After taking a moment to study the controls, Spunkmeyer fastened the harness against his small frame. He looked around the hangar anxiously.

"Try picking up that ration crate. Nothing in there but bread and powdered milk. Easy clean up if something goes wrong," Apone said.

Spunkmeyer nodded before gripping the controls, hearing the motors start up. Very slowly, he started walking the powerloader to the crate, whispering directions to himself. He treated it like he would any aircraft-carefully, acknowledging there were a lot of moving parts, knowing that he wasn't going to get it in one try.

Henley and Apone moved out of the way as Spunkmeyer picked up the crate with the mechanical arms. "Lookit that, you're a natural," Apone said, smiling while putting his cigar in his mouth.

"Thank you, Sarge," Spunkmeyer replied, keeping his eyes on the crate as he walked it over to a stack on the other side of the hangar.

"I'm impressed," Henley said, looking at Apone. "I say we get him properly trained."

He would have to go through several practice runs and tests before being given his license to really use the powerloader. The best part was that it would carry over to the civilian world, giving him more options for things to do when he became a civvie again. _I can fly a dropship and use a powerloader . . . but I can't drive a car._ Spunkmeyer figured he was going to have to do that soon; he didn't want to be in his twenties and not be able to drive. Everyone else his age was getting their permits or passing their road tests. _Come on, flying a dropship is more impressive. You just put your classmates to shame._ At that thought, Spunkmeyer allowed himself to smirk. His bragging rights were going to be well-earned.

He wasn't anticipating what would actually go into the training to use the powerloader. It seemed as though he would be training on base, so it came as a shock when he learned he would leaving for the next eight weeks to go to a separate facility for training.

At first, he didn't think he would mind. He felt like it would help take his mind off his feelings for Ferro, but shortly arriving, he found himself missing her. He even missed Hudson. Everyone, actually, and he wondered if it meant he was finally found a place he belonged.

A few weeks after he arrived at the training facility, Spunkmeyer took his mind off his emotions by focusing on the powerloader. He enjoyed using it, and it was beginning to feel like it was a part of him. Along with using it, he learned how to take care of it, and he felt better about himself when it came to making sure the loader was in working order. He felt like he was capable of responsibility, capable of caring for something, and he wanted to go above and beyond with it.

The loader would never replace human contact, but Spunkmeyer prided himself in knowing he took better care of a piece of machinery than Kendriss ever did for him.

* * *

In the months that followed his return from training, Spunkmeyer truly felt like he belonged with this motley group of Marines. They were family. They were what he always wanted, and needed. They provided the happiness he had been starved of for his whole life. He had a best friend in Ferro, and a big brother in Hudson. On missions, he felt like he was respected, needed. They were able to shed the goofiness and get to work. After work, the goofiness came back.

In late November, the entire unit was moved up to New York, where Spunkmeyer showed Ferro around. He couldn't resist hugging her in the glow of a sunset. Friends could hug. It was a long, warm, and comforting hug.

Spunkmeyer also took advantage of their location to search out his father's gravestone. He bought a baseball pin from a trinket shop, and laid it next to the headstone. He knelt by it for some time, pondering the heavy feelings in his chest. "I wish you were here," he whispered. "I wish you could've seen me grow up, and change, and become a man. I haven't lost that cap you gave me. I've been good to the people that love me. I'm living my own life. I . . . I have a real family now, and I wish you could meet them all." He swallowed past a lump in his throat. "If you've been watching me all this time, you're doing a good job . . . Dad. A-And if I ever become a father, I'm gonna love my own kids with all my heart." Tears began rolling down his face. "I'm gonna hold 'em tight every night, and I'm not gonna let go. I want to be the dad I know you would've been for me."

A cold breeze blew through him, drying the tears and stinging his eyes. Spunkmeyer sobbed, clutching the stone in front of him. He felt like he was pouring out years and years of pain that had festered in his chest. Everything was aching badly when he finished his cry. He let out his breath, hoping that would be the last time he would have to cry so much.

A few days before Christmas, it was announced the Henley was being promoted to sergeant, and would be leaving the unit to command one of his own. Though Henley could be harsh at times, he was by no means a bad person. Hell, he was a kitten compared to Larkins, and he was generally looking out for the best interests of his subordinates, Spunkmeyer included. It was, after all, Henley's idea for Spunkmeyer to be trained to use the powerloader, and a part of Spunkmeyer didn't want to see him go.

On Christmas Eve, Spunkmeyer went down to the base's call center to phone Evison and wish him a Merry Christmas. He was expecting Evison's happy voice and generally positive demeanor, but instead, he got the opposite.

"What is it, Spunkmeyer?" Evison asked, sounding sad and tired.

"I . . . was calling to say 'Merry Christmas,' but . . . what's wrong?"

"General Paulson died yesterday."

Spunkmeyer paused. He never got to know Paulson personally, but he had heard quite a bit about the man. "What happened?"

Evison was silent for a moment. "He . . . hung himself."

Spunkmeyer felt something contort in his stomach. "My God, why?"

"No one knows. Right now, I . . . this came suddenly, and . . . I'm sorry, I know this is supposed to be a very happy time of year, but . . . and this is your first real Christmas . . ." Evison couldn't seem to put a sentence together. "Spunkmeyer, I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be sorry. If you need to talk, that's fine."

"I will call you back when I can talk. I can't put any of my thoughts into words at the moment."

Putting the phone back on its hook, Spunkmeyer absentmindedly adjusted his jacket. He could understand how Evison was feeling. Maybe it wasn't exactly the same, but he knew how it felt to have a piece of your heart torn out. He was putting his back together, but the stitches were uneven and it was fairly obvious that everything had been broken. It would never appear whole, unblemished, again. It was never going to look whole in the first place. A part of him wished he could comfort Evison, but he knew that wasn't possible right now.

* * *

The base was quiet up until a few days after New Year's, when Apone announced at breakfast that the unit would be getting a new corporal in a few weeks. Spunkmeyer wondered if one of them was getting a promotion, but quickly found out that wasn't the case; Apone was picking from guys that had requested transfers. _Cool. I won't be the new guy anymore._

It was late in February when this new corporal, somebody called Dwayne Hicks, arrived, and he wasn't at all what Spunkmeyer was expecting. He was a skinny man with messy short hair and bloodshot gray-green eyes. He gave an aura that he had been through something horrendous and awful, and he wasn't at all quick to interact with everyone when he found everyone in the lounge. Hudson tried to be friendly, offering Hicks to sit with them and have something to snack on. Hicks was hesitant, but he ended up joining the group and talking a little bit.

Spunkmeyer learned the basics about Hicks: he was from Alabama, he joined the Marines right out of high school, and he was planning on staying in for life. Other than that, Hicks didn't make an effort to talk to anyone. During dinner, he ate his food and kept to himself, not engaging in any conversations, period.

That night, Spunkmeyer was fast asleep when someone entered the room to shake him awake.

"Hey, you're the one they trained with the powerloader, right?" Hicks whispered.

Slowly, Spunkmeyer sat up, groaning, "What time is it?"

"I don't care. You're the one they trained with the powerloader, right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Get out of bed and get your fucking clothes on." When Spunkmeyer didn't move fast enough, Hicks shouted, "_NOW!_"

Hudson sat up in his bunk. "What the hell, man?" He looked down at Hicks. "It's midnight, man, we're all sleeping. What's your problem?"

"I will make you march the hallway if you don't keep your nose outta this," Hicks snarled, grabbing Spunkmeyer by the collar. "Move it, in the loading bay! Left, left, right-get in step, dammit."

Spunkmeyer began wondering if he was having a nightmare. "What's going on? What do you want?"

"I didn't give you permission to ask questions."

Unable to figure out if this was reality, Spunkmeyer screamed. "_Hudson! HUDSON! Somebody, help! Help, please!_"

* * *

_Question: Is it possible for an outsider to look at Spunkmeyer and assume he's manipulating people to get attention?_


	11. Chapter 11

There was a creak and a thump as Hudson swung himself out of his bunk. He dashed out into the hallway, in only his socks and skivvies, and ran toward Hicks and Spunkmeyer. "Let him go, man!"

Hicks turned around to punch Hudson in the stomach. The wind rushed out of his lungs as he fell. Spunkmeyer, fueled with fear and anger, socked Hicks in the side. Stunned by the blow, Hicks reeled before grabbing Spunkmeyer by the neck, and began squeezing. The anger quickly faded into panic.

"_What in the name of Almighty God is going on out here?!_" Apone took Hicks by the shoulder. "Let go of him, Hicks."

Hicks's eyes were lit with rage.

Apone remained calm, maintaining eye contact with Hicks. "I said, let go."

Hicks's grip loosened, and Spunkmeyer collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Sir. I was getting our . . . powerloader operator to re-organize the ordinance back here. That would never pass inspection. There's no discipline. It's worse than Sergeant Travin's-"

"Hicks, I explicitly told you, that when you start feeling this way, you go right to your therapist. Now, I understand if you feel like you can't control it, but, this is an order. When you follow orders, that shows discipline, and that's what you want, right?"

"Yes, s-sir."

"Good. Go on down to sick bay. I'll talk to you in the morning." As Hicks performed an about-face and marched out, Apone looked down at Hudson and Spunkmeyer. "You two OK?"

"Yeah," Hudson breathed. "What the hell just happened, man?"

"Hicks isn't feeling well. Come on, get up, and go back to bed."

* * *

The unit was gathered in one of the smaller briefing rooms after breakfast the next morning. Their medtech, Corporal Schmidt, sat on a desk, facing the rest of the Marines. "Alright, I think some of you . . . figured out that Corporal Hicks has some issues-Hudson, get your feet off the desk-and Sergeant Apone gave me orders to give you a little information on what you're dealing with. I know you guys don't really hear all that much about mental health. It's not something they cover in-depth at boot camp or your specialty training, but at the same time, it's there. Some of you might be dealing with problems you don't know about, and if you think it's gotten to a point where you can't handle it, you need to come forward so we can get you the help you need.

"Corporal Hicks is dealing with bipolar two disorder, or manic depression. Basically, this means he has alternating periods with extreme high and low moods. In bipolar two, these moods tend to be milder than with bipolar one."

"So, when he flew off the handle and punched me, that's fucking mania?" Hudson asked.

"Yeah. 'High' doesn't necessarily mean happy. 'High' can mean . . . a lot of energy."

"Hicks was just transferred from a unit where there wasn't any structure or discipline," Apone interjected. "Not to mention, he didn't take General Paulson's suicide very well."

"So, he's taking his grief out on us?" Drevis asked.

Spunkmeyer's thoughts turned to his former training partner, Larrin. Larrin took his own grief out on him, but he wasn't suffering from a mental problem.

"Everyone deals with loss in their own way," Apone said. "What we're trying to say is that I did not deliberately sign on a nutcase. This wasn't recorded until after I submitted a response to command. Hicks is getting help from somebody, and it's not fair-or helpful-if I pack him up and send him back to Colonel Russell."

Schmidt nodded. "Hicks doesn't hate any of you or wants to see you suffer, OK? Try to be nice, be helpful. Let him know you care."

"Easy for you to say. You didn't get sucker-punched in the fucking belly or nearly choked to death, man," Hudson said, glancing at Spunkmeyer.

"Hudson, knock it off," Apone said.

"I'm just saying, Sarge; I ain't holding back next time Hicks decides it's a good idea to drag Spunkmeyer outta bed at midnight for some shit he and only he thinks is outta place." Hudson's eyes were narrowed to icy gray slits as he looked around the room. "You people shoulda heard Spunkmeyer crying. I know we're trained with the hardest discipline on the planet, but there's a difference between that and fucking cruelty."

"You don't need to do this, Hudson," Spunkmeyer whispered.

"Hudson, we get it," Schmidt said, only slightly raising his voice above Hudson's. "No one's getting kicked out or punished or whatnot. Next time, don't fight Hicks; go down to sick bay and get Doctor Ranelli." He got off the desk. "You all are dismissed."

* * *

Hudson didn't seem too keen on being nice to Hicks after what happened the previous night. Spunkmeyer was a little embarrassed over Hudson trying to defend him, but at the same time, when had that ever happened before in his life? It felt mean-spirited, even selfish, to just let Hudson be his defender-in the eyes of a regular person.

As winter slowly made its change to spring, the unit had become used to Hicks's presence. When he wasn't maniacal or depressed, he was incredibly competent. He made an effort to bond with each Marine-including Spunkmeyer.

While getting out of the powerloader one morning, Spunkmeyer saw Hicks approaching him, putting a lighter in his pocket. Naturally, Spunkmeyer was a little anxious, but he didn't want his guard up too much.

"Danny Spunkmeyer, right?" Hicks asked.

"Yeah."

Hicks was clearly trying to appear relaxed, but his tension was visible a mile away. "I know I shoulda told you this a long time ago, but I am sorry about what happened when I first came here."

Spunkmeyer struggled to come up with a good response. On one hand, Hicks did try to choke him, and punched Hudson, but he was also suffering internally. In a way, Spunkmeyer understood how Hicks was feeling, but he was afraid of what Hudson would say if he told him that he partially sympathized with Hicks.

"I think we should try to start fresh. We're teammates, and even though I'm your corporal, I think seeing eye-to-eye with you is important."

Spunkmeyer nodded, and let his guard down. "OK." He leaned against one of the legs of the powerloader. "I accept your apology."

"Thank you."

Spunkmeyer took notice of how soft Hicks's voice was. He didn't seem to be that good of a "people-person," which was what unit leaders are supposed to be.

Right?

He also had a variety of nervous habits. When he wasn't smoking, he was playing with the tassels of a black and dark-scarlet scarf. Spunkmeyer could tell that Hicks felt inferior; instead of making eye contact, he looked down at his scarf. _How on Earth did he become a corporal?_

"You don't mind I talk to you, do you?"

Spunkmeyer shrugged. "Don't see why not." _And I thought I was a little odd. _"I gotta use the restroom, so, wait here."

Hicks looked like he had just been scolded. He continued looking down, but would glance up at Spunkmeyer as he left the hangar.

Wierzbowski was standing in front of one of the urinals when Spunkmeyer came in, and Spunkmeyer abruptly realized that he shouldn't be saying anything about Hicks's nervous habits. _I can't go when someone else is in the restroom. Even if it's bad, I just can't do it._

"You alright?" Wierzbowski asked. "You know there's seven other open urinals."

"I know. I just . . . can't . . . go."

"Not feeling good?"

"No. I just can't go in front of other people."

"Ah. That's alright. I'll make this quick."

"Has . . . Hicks talked to you at all?"

"Last week, yeah. He came up to me when I was taking some of the mail shipments out of the delivery truck. I asked if he needed anything, and he said he just wanted to talk to me, man-to-man."

"Did he act nervous?"

Wierzbowski nodded. "He's not a talker, which I can understand."

"Yeah. You're quiet, but you're not . . . balls-out awkward."

Wierzbowski smirked. "I'm also not depressed." He finished up his business, and then walked over to a sink. "Hicks isn't someone who enjoys small talk. If you can ease your way into a conversation one level deeper than small talk, I think you and Hicks can get along, no problem."

"How do I do that without being weird myself?"

"If he asks about your family, that's a fairly easy opportunity for you to access that deeper conversation." Wierzbowski gave Spunkmeyer a somewhat sad look. He knew most of the details of Spunkmeyer's past.

"You're right." Spunkmeyer walked up to a urinal. "I feel like I'm just going to get upset, though."

"Well, then, be honest. Tell him you're not ready to talk to him about your past."

"That'll probably make him feel bad."

"Again, be honest. It's not his fault you don't like talking to people about it."

* * *

Spunkmeyer left the restroom to find Hicks standing in the doorway between the hangar and the hall. Hicks's whole demeanor made Spunkmeyer wish he didn't have to be honest. _No. I've spent my entire life stooping down and putting my own feelings beneath me. I'm not letting him soften me into submission._

"Everything OK?" Hicks asked. He sounded a tad more confident.

Spunkmeyer nodded. "Yeah. What'd you wanna talk about?"

"Just wanna get to know you a little better, beyond your papers and stuff."

_Oh. So, he already knows I'm adopted, and that I have no relatives, no next of kin._

"You grew up in New York?"

Spunkmeyer swallowed past a lump in his throat. "I don't . . . want to talk about it." _Do I? Or am I just saying this to spite him? I don't know. I don't know! _In a panic, Spunkmeyer whirled around, and walked briskly down the hall. He broke into a jog halfway, and immediately turned to dash into the armory.

_I thought I got past this. I thought I could talk about this without exposing just how . . . how much it's fucked with me. _Resting his head on his knees, Spunkmeyer sighed before sobbing. He then felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Ferro.

"Hey, what's the matter?" she asked.

"I can't tell Hicks about my past. Not the details, anyway. Why? I should be over this by now. I should be able to calmly say to people, 'Yes, I'm adopted, and here's my story.' Why won't it stop . . . _annoying_ me?"

"In all honesty, it'd be weird if it didn't bother you, even a little bit."

"I mean, it doesn't make me sad anymore, but it does . . . make me angry sometimes, and I don't know why."

"I don't think any of those feelings will truly go away, Spunkmeyer." Getting on the floor next to him, Ferro hugged Spunkmeyer tightly, and rested her head on his shoulder.

Without much hesitation, Spunkmeyer put his arm around Ferro, gently resting his head against hers. "Are you cold?"

"Yeah."

"Want my jacket?"

"But then you'll be cold."

Spunkmeyer took off his jacket anyway, draping it over Ferro's shoulders and rubbing her arms while holding her tighter. "I'll be warm if you're warm."

Ferro was quiet for a moment, letting Spunkmeyer keep her warm. She looked up at him, and smiled. "Thanks."

Spunkmeyer really did feel warmer inside seeing Ferro happy. He grinned, wishing they could drag out this moment for as long as possible.

They couldn't. After only two minutes of sitting, they had to get up and get back to their day. Spunkmeyer had to resume his conversation with Hicks. _I can be the bigger person by telling him my story. He'll understand why it hurts sometimes. I won't look like a coward if I tell him._

Spunkmeyer found Hicks in the gym, and put on a brave face as he approached him. "Corporal, I'm . . . I'm sorry I ran. I just . . . needed to . . . think. I can talk now. I can do it."

Hicks nodded, and didn't say a word as Spunkmeyer told him his story from start to finish-leaving out the part that he enlisted underage, of course. Not once did Spunkmeyer get the impression that Hicks wasn't listening. In fact, he felt like Hicks was actually thinking about every word he said.

Part of Spunkmeyer was expecting a lengthy response from Hicks when he finished. Instead, Hicks nodded a little, and spoke softly. "Be proud of yourself, OK? I know there are a lot of people who would've quit, simply because they were alone and hadn't developed a sense of purpose. You worked from nothing, and that's something you should remember next time you ever feel empty or alone."

* * *

The weeks and months continued onward, and Spunkmeyer observed that Hicks had talked to every member of the unit, trying to improve their bonds . . . Well, every member except Hudson.

It was mid-July when they were relocated to Algiers. On a cliff overlooking the glittering Mediterranean Sea, Hudson and Spunkmeyer sat by themselves, relaxing in the uncovered sun.

"If we could get one of those tiny grills, some burgers and sausage links, a big chocolate pie, and a six-pack of beer, this'd be a good picnic, man," Hudson said.

"And what am I drinking, genius?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"I'll get you a pack of juice boxes."

Smirking, Spunkmeyer flipped Hudson off. "Listen, I legitimately turned eighteen this year. I'm getting closer and closer to really being an adult."

"Are you?" Hudson laughed as Spunkmeyer playfully pushed him. "In all seriousness, man, you've been an adult since you enlisted. I don't know of anyone else who woulda did that at sixteen." He patted Spunkmeyer's head. "You're a real badass, man."

Spunkmeyer resisted the urge to smirk. There were several reasons why he didn't feel like a badass, even though he really wanted to. He thought about what Hicks told him back in February, about how he needed to be proud of himself for coming so far with very little support. "I gotta ask, did Hicks ever talk to you?"

Hudson shook his head. "Not the way he did the rest of you."

"Why?"

"I dunno. Guess it means something, and that sucks because I was the first one to offer him a hand of friendship." Hudson flicked a pebble down the cliff. "I know what it means. Means I'm not the kind of person somebody with mental health issues is gonna turn to for help."

"That's not true. I go to you when I need help."

"I didn't push you away and dismiss you as a nutcase."

"Well, I also didn't punch you in the stomach that night. You're not wrong for being mad at Hicks."

"There's something else it means, and I dunno how to explain it." Hudson looked down at his lap, trying not to appear as though he wanted to cry. "I'm not good with relationships. I'm not good a-at reading people's emotions. I can't even read my own emotions."

"You've been able to figure out when I'm upset. Hey, just because Hicks didn't give you a man-to-man talk, doesn't mean you failed at something." Spunkmeyer moved closer to Hudson, who had finally broke down in tears.

"Yes, it does, man. If that was true, why'd he leave me out? I did something wrong! I _am_ something wrong!"

"Don't talk like that. Look, you've made me happy. Come on, just because Hicks doesn't think you can doesn't mean no one else will. You've given me a brotherhood I didn't think I was ever gonna have."

Clearly, his words weren't penetrating. Hudson continued to look down, sighing quietly.

Spunkmeyer opened his mouth to speak again, but he paused, suddenly getting the impression that Hudson didn't want this conversation to continue. _Someone must've said something to him that pushed his buttons._

* * *

Hudson went back to being himself not too long after the two returned to base, but his behavior still bothered Spunkmeyer. It made no sense. Hudson wasn't telling him something.

_I'm not good at reading people's emotions. I can't even read my own emotions. _Spunkmeyer pondered that for some time. How could he and Hudson be friends if Hudson didn't understand how he was feeling? _There's something he's not telling me._

A part of Spunkmeyer wanted to feel guilty, but he was convinced this was purely Hudson's problem. He decided not to let it drag him down. _He'll come to me when he wants to. I won't force him._

He couldn't predict that communication between them would start to stagnate. Within a month after Hudson's outburst, they stopped having those deeper conversations late into the night. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were full of really dumb jokes. Spunkmeyer was truly "one of the guys," but that deeply-rooted brotherly relationship he had with Hudson was beginning to unravel.

At least he would always have Ferro. He and her would start sneaking out of their rooms at night and sit in the hangar, talking about anything and everything. Their bond was never going to change, and Spunkmeyer was grateful for that, even if they might never have the romantic relationship Spunkmeyer frequently found himself fantasizing about.

When two years passed since joining the unit, Spunkmeyer continued to struggle with building a new bridge between himself and Hudson. He couldn't find the right words to say, or figure out what it was that had drawn them together when they first met. Perhaps it was a one-time wonder, or it was merely Hudson feeling sorry for Spunkmeyer.

If it was the latter, Spunkmeyer was going to feel awful for the rest of his life.

In the base hangar, Spunkmeyer shook a can of spray paint before marking certain crates with numbers. He glanced to his left to see an officer with two Marines walking in.

"Private! You don't happen to know where Sergeant Apone is, do you?" the officer called.

Spunkmeyer set the spray can down before jogging over. "He's in his office."

"Thanks. Private, eh . . ." the officer looked at Spunkmeyer's jacket, "Spunkmeyer, meet your new smartgunners. Private Vasquez, and Private Drake."

There were no hellos from either of the two tough-looking gunners. Vasquez gave both the officer and Spunkmeyer a dirty look before marching onward to Apone's office. She was definitely scary and not someone Spunkmeyer felt like casually chatting with. Drake just grunted at them before following her. He was just as mean-looking, but he also radiated a sense of "don't even think about coming near me."

Spunkmeyer watched them go, sighing inwardly. _They're gonna have a harder time than me with fitting in._

* * *

_Question: Given Hudson's thoughts about his failure to help Hicks in "Dead Air," should he bother with rekindling his bond with Spunkmeyer?_


End file.
